


The Place We Call Home

by DeadEngine



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Avengers Family, Bi-Curiosity, Ceiling Vent Clint Barton, Comedy, Domestic Avengers, Dysfunctional Family, F/F, F/M, Feels, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, I'm Sorry, Iron Man 1, Long, Long Shot, M/M, Mostly Canon Compliant, Multi, Natasha Romanov & Tony Stark Friendship, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Odin (Marvel)'s A+ Parenting, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Protective James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Protective Thor, Sappy, Sassy Steve Rogers, Slash, Slash But I'm Saying It Again, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark-centric, Tony-centric, Wordcount: 50.000-100.000, but mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2019-09-20 23:59:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 45,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17032383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeadEngine/pseuds/DeadEngine
Summary: Tony Stark didn't know why the Avengers came to live with him again and again. Surely they had better places to be. But he didn't dare ask, afraid broaching the subject would scare them away.OR, three times Tony Stark builds the Avengers a home, and one time they return the favour.Long fic! Iron Man - Infinity War+. Mostly canon compliant. Multiple pairings.





	1. Tony Has a Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhodey pays his friend a visit.

“I am Iron Man.”

Had Tony Stark known the cascading consequences of his words when he’d first spoken them, he may have taken the cop-out Coulson had prepared. He’d brushed it off, overconfident as always and for the first time in years excited to forge a diverging path. He tucked Coulson’s carefully prepared queue cards into his suit jacket, quickly pulling his expensive sunglasses down to the bridge of his nose.

Noise erupted from every corner of the room. Expressions shifted from doubtful to watchful in the gathered crowd, anticipation blooming in the depths of reporters eyes.

The conference ended only moments thereafter, Pepper Potts urging him off the stage with spritely care. “Tony-” She said, hand reaching up to Tony’s arm gingerly.

“Pep, really? It’s okay, I’m alright. I’m gonna stay.” His grin became a pout, but he acquiesced at the stern look on her face. He tossed out a peace sign to the eager crowd, enjoying the laughs it garnered.

“Guess I’ve gotta go. Pepper Potts everyone” he called out, already being guided off stage.

“She’s the real hero here.”

Reporters plastered mics and cameras in their faces as Pepper led Tony off the stage, apologizing with affable grace as she followed with a hasty exit.

Tony thought he saw Happy go back in to talk to reporters, flashing a look of surprised amusement at Pepper.

“And you thought you had to watch me. Better go get him before he can cause any real damage.”

“Tony! What were you thinking? How could you not take this seriously, you don’t take anything seriously-”

Tony squeezed her hand gently as she stopped, agitated, then softened all at once. “It’s gonna be alright, Pep.” She looked like she had more to say. Tony had no doubt it would come in the form of a stern lecture that night. She pressed her lips into a firm line, turning on the spot to re-enter the conference room. Questions and camera flashes blared in the quiet hall for just a moment before being silenced again as the door closed.

He watched the door for a moment, smiling to himself, then pulled the queue cards back out of his pocket, settling into a moment of self doubt as his thumb traced over the printed words.

The feeling passed as quickly as it came, and the cards were tossed into the nearest trash can.

 

\---------

 

Blue lights glowed faintly in an otherwise dark lab, creating a calm ambiance broken by soft beeping and faint flashes as programs ran and updated themselves. Coffee mugs adorned nearly every surface, interspersed with hand tools and oily rags reflecting back some of the soft blue glow. A threadbare couch sat unused in one corner. It’s clean lines and sturdy feet betrayed it’s condition, hinting at a more expensive origin than it now presented. Green liquid had been dried onto one arm. An empty pizza box hid halfway under the other end. A coffee table had been upturned nearby, precariously balancing what looked to be a red metal disc with sticky notes barely attached.

Amongst the dign sat a large robot, grabbing pluckily at a wrench left on the floor. It beeped in turmoil as it failed to maintain its hold, sending the tool clanging to the ground.

It whirred and hummed as it recalculated its trajectory, opening its claw and planting it firmly against the concrete trying again to pick up the affronting tool. For a moment it seemed to succeed, whirring loudly again and rearing up its long arm.

This was an accident, apparently, as it lost its grip, sending the little wrench clanging back into the recesses of the lab.

“Ow! What? What are you doing? What were you trying to do? And who told you you could do that anyways, no- go on. Try again. You’ll never learn that way.”

Despite the litany of criticism, there was a warm lilt to his deep voice as Tony admonished U. He looked back at his computer for just a second before turning a spurious glance at Dummy, who was quickly emerging from his charging bay to help his friend.

This was yet another mistake, and Tony winced as Dummy overshot his rescue and ran over the wrench. Now lost to the realities of physics, both robots were attempting to nudge the wrench out from under Dummy’s tract.

Tony chimed with laughter, crows feet crinkling at the corners of his eyes. “Jarvis.”

“Yes, sir. I am attempting to signal both Dummy and U to roll away from the wrench, but they are refusing to respond.”

“Refusing to respond!” Tony parroted, furrowing dark brows as he looked up at Jarvis’ speaker. “What do you mean ‘refusing to respond’? I programmed them, J. What does that say about me- Hey!” Dummy and U now pressed their struts together and bent their claws down in unison, attempting to force the wrench out. “Come on, I taught you guys better. Dummy, get off of that. You’re worthless, gotta start earning your square footage around here. Didn’t I tell you to clean up the couch, too? Come on. I should replace you with a real intern.”

He headed to where they were struggling, reaching a calloused hand out to stroke Dummy’s strut. It turned it’s sensor towards Tony, whirring in distress.

“Just kidding, I’m kidding. Don’t get upset. Look, you’re gonna make U cry. Hey now, I wouldn’t replace you with a real intern, I’d have to feed them.” He frowned. “And pay them. Come to think of it-” He continued, pushing Dummy gently as the robot took its cue to roll backwards, “Better to just build a couple multi million dollar robots to clean things up.”

Tony raised a cocky brow looking over his creations. He flipped the wrench in his hand, offering it to U who took it in a very gentle grip. The robots turned to each other, then broke out in a raucous chorus of whirring and chirps. They raced around to the other side of Tony’s desk, carefully and slowly placing the wrench on top of a mug. Humming again in celebration, they bobbled their arms, turning towards another messy area of the lab. On the way, U craned his strut across the desk, knocking both the wrench and the coffee mug to the ground.

“Really?” Tony reprimanded, ready to go off again, but was cut off by a laugh from his door.

“You should consider hiring some real interns, Stark.”

“Rhodes.” He smiled brightly, reaching a hand out to Rhodey who turned up a raised brow. The man in question strode comfortably into the space, unfettered by the delicacy of complexity of his surroundings.

“Really man?” He set his War Machine suit on the group and pulled Tony in for a hug. The inventor resisted for a moment, then settled in and clapped his friend on the back. They turned back to the broken mug on the ground, sharing a wry look. It need not be said that Tony would not be cleaning that up. Not now, and probably, not ever.

Tony looked Rhodes over as they pulled back. He was dressed casually in slacks and polo, posture loosening as he perched on the edge of the nearest desk. Rhodey grimaced once more at the cup, rubbing his wrist tenderly as he did.

“What’s going on?” He titled his head to Rhodey’s wrist. “Is that chafing I see? Is it the suit?”

“Just a bit rough in the cuffs-” Rhodey started, but Tony was already going to work, becoming animated as he took the War Machine. A quick press of the heel and the suit was unfolding, coming alive as if knowing it’s creator was at hand.

The intricate metal unfolded with precision, gleaming in the soft lights of the lab. Tony reached for it with practiced hands, already shooting off commands to Dummy, U and Jarvis as his eyes focused on everything and nothing.

Rhodey sat back further on his perch, a soft smile growing on his face. He watched in adulation as Tony glided towards the nearest platform, slapping the suit onto it gracelessly then slapping Dummy’s strut as the robot reached for a metal arm.

“Gonna have to adjust for your wrist size - I have dainty wrists, you know that. That’s why - Stop that Dummy. It’s not a toy. Well maybe to you - We’re gonna have to resize it, need to take some measurements before you leave. Maybe it’s time for that body scan, gotta find that scanner, I built a new one last time you were here-”

The soldier listened patiently as he watched with a warm gaze, nodding and agreeing every so often to show he was listening. He wasn’t, not really. Tony was a genius. Many would and did pay to hear him speak, but Rhodey knew Tony wasn’t speaking for his benefit. His friend was moving too fast, mind a mile a minute and his mouth faster still. Rhodey liked to think himself a smart man, too, he liked to think he was capable of understanding most concepts with a moderate effort, but the ideas shooting out of the man before him were wasted.

“Hey, Tony.” He eventually piped up, seeing the brunette’s eyes dart up momentarily without focusing. “Listen, Tone- We gotta talk about something.”

The movement continued for a moment before Tony paused, finally looking at his friend. He frowned and coughed, grimacing as he tried to deflect The Conversation.

“The, uh, scan should only take a second if-”

“Tony, Tony. That’s enough. Look at me man.” At that, he knew he had Tony’s attention. Jerking his thumb towards the door, Rhodey pushed himself off the desk. “Wanna go to the roof? It’s a nice night out.”

As if sensing the resistance incoming, Rhodey let out an easy laugh. “Come on, Tony. You knew Pepper would send me down here eventually. Hey Jarvis, you mind giving us a moment?”

“For you, Sir-” came the disembodied voice politely, already shutting down the lab “anything.”

 

\---------

 

Rhodey eventually coaxed Tony onto the roof, grabbing an armful of beers on the way. Tony grabbed a blanket, tossing it over Rhodey’s back as they walked.

“We should add a cape to your costume, Prince Charming.” He offered. Rhodey smiled and shook his head.

They settled into patio chairs, an easy silence enveloping them before Tony could breach the silence.

“You bring me up here to kill me Rhodes? I knew Pepper would send you, this is a betrayal.” He rambled lightly, fumbling to keep the conversation light.

He tossed Rhodey a beer, setting his own down for a moment to tuck Rhodey’s blanket under his armpits, grinning when his friend humoured him. “A cape, we’re gonna keep you nice and warm up there. Can’t have you catching a cold, Rhodes, I haven’t figured out the heaters in the suit just yet.”

“Tony.”

Silence settled again for a moment and Stark wiggled back in his chair with a frown, covering his legs with a jacket.

“We’re worried about you. I think you’ve bit off more than you can chew this time.”

At the silence that followed and his friend’s blank forward facing stare, Rhodey gestured back at the Malibu house with his beer. The windows were still blown out, moving boxes stacked up against the interiour walls with tarps thrown haphazardly on top. The broken glass was thankfully swept and removed, the obvious debris with it. A jet was parked awkwardly in the front of the house, it’s stairway open awaiting more boxes to be loaded on.

“You’ve got the move, Congress on your ass- You’ve got boxes laying there open to the elements, Tony. The tower is gonna be finished any time, and I know you’re consulting with Shield now, ah ah-” he tutted as Tony made to object “Yeah you got Senator Stern to serve our medals, man, that was killer, I’ll give you that!” He laughed, watching as his friend finally relaxed into a subject Rhodey knew he’d like to avoid.

He’d known Tony Stark for a long time, longer perhaps than anyone else alive. He had a habit of avoiding self care, avoiding even the mention of it in conversation. His own life had meant nothing, and if his presence was robbed from the world, well, Rhodey had known Tony not to think of it as an issue.

But that was changing, Rhodey noticed too, watching his friend mature since his dramatic return from Afghanistan. At first the changes were all at once, but now the realities of being Iron Man, being a man who was accountable to his word, were catching up on Tony. Worry had settled in to every line of his face, his posture never quite as relaxed as it once was. In his usual way he retreated into his workshop, forgoing food and daylight while he let his work take over, only coming out for missions and meetings. He was taking his image and his purpose seriously, but his health was lagging behind.

Sometimes, Rhodes knew, he had to come to Tony. Had to force him to look in a mirror. Starting on his train of thought, Rhodey reached into his pocket. “Look.”

Tony started as well, wrinkling his brow at the offered package. “Sorry. It’s just. I don’t like being handed things.”

A beat passed in dead silence as Rhodey’s face squared, gaze unwavering. “You being serious right now? Take the damn sandwich man.”

Tony broke out in a laugh, reaching out for the little paper wrapped meal. He maintained his composure for exactly two seconds before tearing into the package with practiced fingers and teeth, spitting out a bit paper when his friend laughed. Suddenly ravenous, Tony thanked him between hearty mouthfuls of meat and bread, nodding fervently in approval.

“This from Franciellis? You know I love that place. Gotta get them to open a franchise in New York. Hey! Maybe I should just buy it, streamline things a bit, you know…”

Rhodey waited patiently for Tony to get back to his food, casting a nurturing eye on his friend.

“Tony… I need to make sure that you’re taking care of yourself. You know we care about you. I don’t want you burning out because you’re pushing yourself too hard, taking care of everybody but yourself.”

“Just promise me” he forged on “that you’re gonna do that. You’re gonna feed yourself a real vegetable, every day. And go outside. And take Pepper out. She’s a special woman, she’s got special needs-”

Tony gave him a skewed look as Rhodey stopped himself, “No, that’s not what I meant. You know what I meant, dude. Get her something nice, take her on vacation. And take yourself on vacation. You don’t have to worry about me or the suit til you get settled in New York. The world can wait til Tony Stark gets a good night of sleep.”

Sandwich devoured during Rhodey’s short speech, Tony prepared to make a smart retort. “I am a grown man. At least physically. I have nowhere to go but down.” He joked, but Rhodey fixed him with a look and nudge on the forearm. Tony glanced down to see another beer already opened in his friends hand, he hadn’t been paying attention. He took the beer, becoming transfixed as his friend schooled a more serious look.

“I love you Tony. I don’t wanna see anything happen to you.”

Tony let out a long sigh, settling back against his chair again and shimmying further under the jacket draped over his legs. He raised two dark eyebrows when Rhodey shimmied his own chair up against his. Tony melted morosely as Rhodes wriggled his blanket free from where Tony had tucked it in, stretching it out over the genius’ legs so they were sandwiched together in warmth.

They sat in darkness and the chilled sea breeze settled heavy like fog. Minutes passed in timid silence, both only moving to sip at their beers.

They gazed out over the dark ocean, lights of the Malibu coast forgotten behind. Stars twinkled resolutely above, unaware and uncaring of the two men gazing silently below. The sky devoid of life, cementing their isolation, and their need, Tony thought, to stay together.

Rhodey wasn’t expecting Tony’s strong arm to settle over the back of his chair, but didn’t object to being pulled closer.

“I love you too, Rhodes.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \---------
> 
> Author’s note: 
> 
> Thanks for reading! The fanart for this chapter can be found here :-) 
> 
> https://imgur.com/a/R9J7g0i
> 
> It’s gonna be a long one, so buckle up kids. This fic will span Iron Man 1 through Infinity War and beyond. Please leave feedback if you feel like, and lemme know if you have any stylistic suggestions for speaking or writing. Stuffs tough.


	2. Tony Goes On a Fun Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha helps Tony move (kind of.) Tony goes on a fun mission (kind of.) Coulson doesn't worry (kind of.)

Natasha helped Tony move to New York. He wasn’t expecting this, or emotionally available to process it in any way. Coulson had sent her along as a “security detail”, there to report on their take off and landing and to ensure his slew of high tech gizmos remained untouched. Tony suspected this was a fallacy, and that Natasha was only joining him for a first class ride to New York. Watching over his move was probably far below her pay grade, most of the dangerous weapons had already been transported. No, Tony corrected, watching her lean casually against the jet staircase in her light cotton shirt, copper hair glinting in the sunlight- this was definitely below her paygrade.

He thanked his stars at least that she seemed tired. There was a glassiness to her eyes, her posture not as strict as it’d been on previous visits. She didn’t seem as inclined as usual to heckle Tony, in fact she hadn’t heckled him all day. She hadn’t heckled his labourers either. Glad though he was to not be on the receiving end of her dry wit, Tony couldn’t help but feel concerned.

That ended at 4pm when the last few boxes still sat on his tarmac in the cheery sunshine. Tony watched in astonishment as Natasha “Kills You With a Look” Romanov picked up a box like it weighed nothing, braced it in her toned arms and strode into the jet. Her expensive heels clacked on the ground - She was wearing business casual, perhaps not expecting to have to knock anyone out during the short flight, except maybe Tony himself if he didn’t stop blathering- and loaded the box with the others.

“You going to help or just sit there with your mouth open?” She’d smirked, and Tony swore there might have been a twinkle in her eye.

Dumbfounded though he was, he didn’t want to humour her sense of superiority. He was a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, and as Tony thought in the privacy of his own head, a damned hard worker. He wasn’t about to have his reputation shown up by a SHIELD agent.

By 4:10pm, Tony Stark was loading boxes into his own private jet. He did it slowly and complained most of the time, of course, but he did help.

“I’m an old man you know.”

“Mmhm.”

“I have a bad back.”

“Right. And that’s why you go flying around at supersonic speeds in a metal coffin.”

Fanart: https://imgur.com/FbjMo78

“That’s right.” He’d replied, but it was a moot effort. When he at last boarded the jet for takeoff, Natasha had already made herself at home. With a moment of puzzlement, Tony realized he hadn’t seen her loading for some time. And her shoes were already off. And she was halfway through an episode of Friends on her tablet.

“Hey!...”

“Can I help you?”

“Did you… When did you… How… I thought you were helping. Did you help? I don’t want to accuse you if you’re innocent, but…” Tony sputtered as he settled into the seat across from her.

A smile tugged at the assassins lips as she fixed Tony with a dry look.

“They took too long, we had to get moving.”

“Are you watching Friends?” He asked, choosing wisely not to pursue his accusation. “The world’s deadliest assassin, a super spy, and you’re watching Friends. On my plane. With your shoes off?”

When Natasha didn’t respond, Tony dropped the subject. He sighed grumpily and sat back in his chair, pulling his Stark phone from one grimy pant pocket and a churro from the other. He was almost able to get into the swing of it, too, if he wasn’t slowly pulled out of his fervor by something rude, and very annoying. He realized with stunned silence that Natasha’s feet had snuck their way up his leg, and now rested on one thigh.

Tony glared down at the offending appendages as if they were only made to disturb his piece.

“Is this all I am to you? A footstool?” He raised his thigh slightly to allow her to see her feet.

“Doing a great job of it.”

“That hurts. I’m hurt. Can’t you see my heart is breaking?” Throwing a hand over his reactor, Tony schooled a pout and batted his big brown eyes. It had no effect, and quickly morphed into offense when a skillful hand snatched the churro from his own, Nat’s eyes never leaving her tablet.

At another time he might have said something. It was Natasha’s weary frame, unguarded in a way he hadn’t seen before, that gave him pause. Tony rested his free hand on her feet. This time he thought it better to say nothing at all.

\--------

The city seemed to give off a hum as if alive, practically vibrating with activity as each of its residents contributed to the roar of noise and horns and engines, to the shrieking of children playing in the street. New York was as lively as it had ever been, stiflingly hot that summer where the only reprieve was to hide in the shadows of it’s towers. The city sparkled in the summer sun. Smells from street food vendors announced themselves at every corner. People were out and about, bustling in groups of friends and lovers as they took in the splendors of the gorgeous afternoon.

Far removed from the blissful scene sat a mechanic, hands working diligently on a delicate screw. He was trying to twist it with his fingernail, having lost his screwdriver in the chaos surrounding. Boxes and totes filled with gear held promise of another screwdriver, probably a bounty of them if you cared to look, but he was solely focussed on the task at hand. His dirty thumbnail hardly kept traction on the screw. With a slight shake it slipped the threads, careening off into the darkness of the workshop.

“Shit.”

The blaring beat of Nine Inch Nails came to an abrupt halt. Jarvis’ voice was judgy, “If Miss Potts is to be believed, Sir, you must put a quarter into the swear jar.”

Tony huffed, not paying attention. He would have liked the music to resume but didn’t dare glance away from his newly appointed screw to tell Jarvis off. Every fiber of his being was directed to this new screw, the last part needed to repair his Mark 3.

Shortly after the move Tony had been called away by Shield for a “consultation.” What he’d walked in to was very much not a consultation but an ambush, being handed a mission briefing and medical reports and situation updates by scores of smartly dressed agents. Not having the time to make a scene at being handed these items Tony allowed himself to be bombarded by the paperwork, only to arrive in a conference room with Fury, Coulson and Natasha.

“This is a job for Iron Man.”

That’s what Fury had said, nodding to the image of a weapons compound on his screen. It wasn’t a Stark model. Pfft.

“But not Tony Stark, right? Just so we’re clear. Don’t want to get us mixed up. That would be awkward.”

“Unless you wanna leave that fancy suit of yours at the door, Stark, I guess I’ll have to take you as a package deal.”

Tony had many snotty responses he’d have liked to give if Coulson, damn his polite interference, hadn’t done just that. And so the briefing continued, pointless after Tony moved all of the data onto his personal screen almost right out the gate. He was muttering to Jarvis about coordinates and timestamps with consternation, not looking away from his phone.

“I trust that you’ll treat that information as proprietary, Mr. Stark.”

He waved Coulson off, only stopped when the man pushed his phone into his lap. His expression betrayed nothing, waiting patiently for a response.

Tony liked Coulson, though he would never say as much. He liked his polite mannerisms, the way he was able to interject seamlessly into a conversation and pull out without overstaying his welcome. He appreciated Coulson’s understated dress style, his direct manner of speech. Coulson didn’t waste time. He also didn’t like to be ignored, Tony noted, pulling his eyes up from the screen with a furrowed brow to see five stern eyes staring back.

“Yeah, yeah. Proprietary. You’ve got it. Hey, how about this radiation signature, what’s hiding in there.”

A new graphic pulled up on the screen as Jarvis took over, running circles around the rest.

\--------

Security agents were around mulling on the rooftop, enjoying the soft Rome sun and pleasant grassy fields. They had no idea the danger that was coming to them, were totally unprepared to stave off an intrusion. They only had a few seconds to process when Tony blasted into the roof, leaving them intact up above for SHIELD agents to handle.

His sensors immediately picked up crate after crate of radioactive material, scanning deep into the cavernous warehouse to pick up heat signatures. Bullets whizzed by and pinged off of his suit.

“There is danger of a collapse in the event of a heavy ballistics use.” Jarvis intoned politely, already identifying multiple weak points in the infrastructure.

Even without the rude entrance, the place was not in great condition. Support beams showed environmental damage in multiple places, water damage coalesced at their tops. It didn’t help that twenty armed henchmen were doling out rapid fire, leaving a mosaic of bullet holes in the ceiling.

“Jarvis, you mind?”

“Deploying enhanced personal missiles now, Sir.”

Tony turned his eyes back to the ceiling to look for new damage as his opponents fell, observing the lime buildup in the corner.

“I’m starting to think ventilation is overrated. Why not let your deadly weapons compound collapse cause you couldn’t be bothered to buy a dehumidifier.”

“Keep your eye on the prize, Stark. There’ll be a room down the first hall to your right. Get in, get the rod, get out. And be careful, a break in the caskets could lead to a volatile reaction. We can blow up the weapons once we’ve got the radioactive material and the enemies out of there.”

“Aye aye, Coulson.” He replied, already blasting towards the hall. Some henchmen were still firing, ricochets sounding with each offload and whizzing in every direction. A large man with a ponytail tried to grab him as he walked down the hall. He wasn’t expecting the suit to be smooth, apparently, because he slid off. Tony snickered, then gave a rousing stomp to the guys foot, breaking it, and tased him with his suits’ stun gun.

“I’m arriving now.” He said, coming up to a nondescript door. Tony had to give them credit, they picked a good one. From the outside there was nothing remarkable about this door. No heavy signs of age, no damage, no labels. There was a card scanner on one side of the door with a tiny red bulb. Without Coulson’s intel, Tony might have missed it.

He let Jarvis’ scanners run for a moment, trying to detect thermal signatures or movement behind the door, but there was nothing, so he ripped the door off the wall, warping it’s hinging with a groan.

Once removed, Tony took in the dark room ahead.

“What’s your status, Iron Man?” Came Coulson’s voice in his ear.

“It’s just a room.” Coulson may have heard the frown in Tony’s voice.

“Move in with caution.”

Tony nodded, though Coulson couldn’t see, and stepped cautiously into the room. It was small, dark and if his sensors were to be believed, chilly. Metal shelves filled with small black metal boxes lined each wall, larger cases stowed below. Up ahead was a narrow metal desk covered in a litany of paperwork, narrow handwriting crammed the corners of each sheet. He gave it a thorough glance over, knowing the footage may be useful later on.

Further into the room was a series of glass cylinders, each attached to a larger console against the back wall. They glowed yellow in the darkness, seeming to command a respectful silence.

Tony reached a hand out to tap the thin glass. “Got em.”

“Alright, use the case we gave you to put em’ away. We’ll be waiting for you at holding.”

But he didn’t have time. His sensors went wild, a man in a lab coat bursting into the door with gun brandished. Jarvis was saying something.

“Don’t!” Tony yelled, turning with arm already out. But it was too late, the man offloaded his gun into the room with abandon, striking himself on the rebound. His blood splashed on one wall, glass showering Tony’s feet. He glanced up at the cases, heart in his throat, caught like a deer in headlights. A case was broken. A stick was punctured.

Breath stuck in his chest, Tony’s mind raced to remember his protocol in the event this happened. They’d either said it would blow up, or the radiation would kill him. If only he’d been paying attention at the time, Tony mused, eyeing the still motionless and not-at-all fizzing stick with terror, at least it seemed he’d die of the latter.

No time to check with Coulson, Tony smashed a gloved hand into the glass case, grabbed the fizzing stick, crumpled it in his hand and deployed his freezing agent. His suit hissed loudly, glove becoming a ball of steaming ice hiding a glowing yellow core. “Keep going, keep going-”

“Sir, we’ve nearly depleted your supply of liquid nitrogen.”

“Keep going Jarvis-”

Tony’s heartbeat only slowed when his supply ran out, leaving a basketball sized ball of ice stuck to his glove. Digging fingers into one side, Tony gave it a solid yank, instantly filling with relief when the ball came loose. He gently set it aside, turning back to his task at hand.

“Stark, status report. We heard gunshots.”

“Uh, everything is great. Got it under control.”

“Got what under control? Stark?”

“It’s just a little bullet hole.” He was already halfway done stuffing the remaining sticks into the case when Tony winced at the reply.

“Just a little bullet hole?!”

“Yeah. It’s no problem, the guy is dead. It’s fine. Everything is going great.” He finished with the sticks, quickly latching the case. Facing the ball of ice again, Tony gingerly scooped it up in one arm.

“Where is the bullet hole? In you?”

“No, it’s fine. Just a little misfire, right bud?” Tony joshed as he looked towards the downed scientist. He forgot for a moment the man had gotten hit in the head, and instantly turned his head back to his task, trying to bite down the nausea the sight brought on.

“Do you or do you not need med evac?” Came Coulson’s steady voice. Tony allowed himself to focus on it, grounding himself before returning to the exit. He stepped over the scientist, the downed men in the hall and flew out his entry hole.

“No.”

\--------

His problems didn’t end with the radioactive sticks, or the scowl Coulson couldn’t suppress when Tony presented the ball of ice. They had protocols in place for this, of course. Leave it to SHIELD to have plans A-Z. For once Tony was glad, at least one part of the plan was straightforward.

Once the building was cleared, he’d returned to the compound, carting box after box out into the sunshine. He’d had enough of moving for that lifetime. “You gonna help this time Romanov?”

Tony heard a huff over the intercoms. Natasha was somewhere in the building, no doubt breaking mens arms with her pinky finger. “What, and ruin your fun?”

Tony grinned, grabbing yet another tote of material and firing up his repulsors. A figure stepped out from behind a pillar, hazmat-esque suit obscuring their face.

“Shit, Jarvis? How did we miss this?” He fixed his repulsor on them and blasted, taking them down instantly. Their ballistic offloaded anyways, missing Tony by mere inches. It lodged itself into the ceiling instead, where it promptly exploded.

The collapse was instant, hundreds of tonnes of concrete raining down. Tony didn’t get a chance to alert Romanov before he was buried in the rubble.

\--------

Coulson wasn’t a huge fan of worrying about people. He preferred to trust that those under his purview could handle themselves. Barton, Romanov, and now Steve Rogers. They could handle themselves. They’d had the proper training. They knew the protocols. They trusted their teammates. They were professionals. He didn’t have to worry about them.

This considered, he decided he was especially not a fan of worrying about someone decidedly not in his purview.

He’d watched Starks’ change over the course of two years, morphing from a narcissistic warmonger to a… Well, a narcissistic hero. Where he went people made allowance. They’d moved heaven and Earth to accommodate Stark into any branch of government he had an interest in. He’d become involved with charities. He’d committed to his word. Provided some stability in the Middle East. Provided a sense of security at home. He was making people proud.

But he was still reckless.

No, Coulson reprimanded. He wasn’t reckless this time. The building was cleared. The assailant wearing a thermal camouflaging suit. The projectile took the roof down effortlessly. They’d prepared for an invasion, even a Stark sized one. And SHIELD had given him the all clear.

Coulson was cramped and tired, sitting in a chair that must have clawed its way out of a 1970s hospital to arrive where it was now. It was hard, the mint green cushion torn and stained. If even possible, the arms bent inwards, making it a chore for Coulson to find a comfortable sitting position. He frowned at Stark. This was his doing, he was sure. Stark had probably replaced the usually comfortable chairs in SHIELD’s med bays with these antiques. Coulson wouldn’t put it past him.

But even that thought didn’t assuage his worry, watching the slow rise and fall of Stark’s chest. He was going to be fine. A couple cracked ribs were nothing Stark couldn’t handle. The bruising on his foot was already clearing up. The cuts on his shoulder bandaged tightly.

It wasn’t the physical damage Coulson was worried about though. Stark had been carrying radioactive materials in his arms when the building fell. The experts had cleared him of any effects.

So why did Coulson have the nerve to still feel guilty?

This is how he arrived at Stark’s bed a day after the incident, and he wouldn’t leave for hours still. He stayed and watched, observing Stark’s calloused hands as they lay unmoving on his bed. He’d be fine. Coulson didn’t need to feel guilty about this. Stark wouldn’t.

\--------

The first thing he did was ask about Romanov.

She was fine, but he had to make sure.

He hobbled up to a conference room to find her sitting primly for a briefing. He peeked his head in, saw she was busy. Snuck back out. Let his guilt fade before returning to bed. He didn’t know she’d seen him, smiled as she watched him limp back down the hall.

\--------

Tony was a terrible patient. This fact surprised exactly no one. He was demanding and whiny. He wouldn’t sit still. Wouldn’t stay in bed. It was no wonder that only a day after waking up, the nurses booted Stark out of the SHIELD medical facility.

This is how he arrived back in his yet to be unpacked lab, trying his damndest to reassemble his glove. The freezing tubes had needed replacing. It was a quick fix, Tony reminded himself when the screw finally caught. Or it would have been if Tony had bothered to unpack.

With a resigned sigh he took in the state of his new shop. It needed work. Lots of it.

His mind was brought sharply back to attention when there was a ping from his desk. Tony picked up his Stark phone with a frown.

Coulson: Natasha wants to know if you’re okay.

Tony: Tell her she owes me a churro.

Coulson:...

Coulson: She says she doesn’t.

Coulson: She says get over it.

Coulson: She made a rude hand gesture. I don’t want to describe it.

Tony let out a gruff laugh, hardly able to imagine Coulson flipping him the bird. He also couldn’t imagine Natasha Romanov asking Coulson to check up on him. After all, she had no sense of boundaries. Tony didn’t have a sense of boundaries and even he knew this, watching her time and again saunter into his new tower like she owned the place. Tony frowned.

Tony: Thanks for checking up on me.

Tony waited to see if Coulson would say anything. The “...” message indicator came up once, twice, then disappeared. Coulson said nothing. Tony’s chest warmed a little bit...

Tony: “Did you like your new hospital chair?”

He turned off his phone before Coulson could answer, snickering like a child.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the reads, faves and follows! 
> 
> Fanart can be found here! 
> 
> https://imgur.com/FbjMo78


	3. Tony Gets a New Poster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mysterious poster shows up in Tony's workshop.

It took two weeks to unpack the lab. Two weeks to achieve a sense of beleaguered accomplishment for his efforts. Two weeks 

 

The feeling wouldn’t last. 

 

A poster had shown up on a wall. It had a close up of a big dog and a little dog sleeping on a little pillow. There was a bone on the floor. It was captioned  **“Bones Come and Go… Friends Are Forever.”**

 

He couldn’t get it off. It was glued on. Everytime he covered it up with a new painting, that would disappear. The poster was there to stay. 

 

\----

 

Tony was in a very unimportant meeting when he got a text message from Pepper. 

 

**_1:33pm_ **

_ P-Potts: Coulson said you have me in your phone as “P-Potts.”  _

_ P-Potts: Is that true?  _

 

**_2:10pm_ **

_ P-Potts: >:[ _

 

**_4:10pm_ **

_ Tony: Snitches get stitches.  _

_ Coulson: :-)  _

 

**_4:12pm_ **

_ Tony: No.  _

_ P-Potts: Don’t lie to me. Do you still want to do that thing for your birthday or not?  _

_ Tony: ...I changed it.  _

_ Tony Stark has sent an image file. Downloaded.  _

_ Tony: ;) _

_ Wifey:  _ _ Tony. _

 

**_8:45pm_ **

_ Nat: Pepper says you’re taking us shopping to make up for something you did.  _

_ Tony: … _

 

\----

 

Tony considered taking Natasha and Pepper shopping a challenge. If they left with anything less than a small country’s GDP worth of goods, if they didn’t feel completely pampered and taken care of, Tony would consider it an outright failure. He made it his primary objective, prepping for the day ahead with a green smoothie, a cup of coffee and a full night’s sleep. 

 

\----

 

Natasha didn’t concern herself with Tony’s bank account. She linked arms in a rare show of companionship with Pepper, strutting down a sunny street in her favourite pair of Jimmy Choos. Pepper wore an effortlessly graceful loose sundress, it’s delicate pleats swayed gently as she walked, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. 

 

Behind them trailed Tony Stark and Happy Hogan, each burdened with an armful of bags. Everytime they’d get a new one Tony would take it for a time, then pass it off to Happy. Everytime Nat thought Happy would become overwhelmed, he’d duck off to the car to deposit another load. 

 

Tony snuck between Nat and Pepper, slinking an arm around each of their shoulders. Nat gave him a placid smile.

 

“Let’s get you girls some massages. We can hit Sak’s afterwards.”

 

“Really.” Replied Pepper, turning a spurious eye on her swarthy boyfriend. 

 

“Yep. I’ve already made the reservation. It’s five stars. You’ll love it.” 

 

They humoured him and got an (admittedly) terrific massage. The masseuses were discreet, the oil was hot, the lobby smelled great. Natasha emerged feeling at ease, pleased to see Stark sitting patiently on a comfortable bench. He didn’t see her at first, faced towards the decadent atrium outside where two kids were sitting on the edge of a fountain. They were talking conspiratorially, clutching an object between their hands. They nodded to each other, then faced the fountain, throwing the object in the cool waters. One asked a question, the other blushed. After a moment, they kissed their friend on the cheek, blushing profusely. A moment of silence seemed to pass, then they giggled and hugged. 

 

Natasha wasn’t paying attention to this though. She was transfixed with the man before her. His brown eyes took in the scene with soft affection. Dark eyelashes swept his cheek before opening again, a smile playing on his face. His crows feet crinkled at the corners of his eyes, nose scrunched up in amusement. His rough hands were clasped together in front, elbows on his knees. 

 

Natasha couldn’t help but take him in. She watched him with a languid smile, draped against the nearest wall. It didn’t take long for him to turn and see her though, so she slid onto the bench next to him. She didn’t object when he bumped their shoulders together. 

 

“You’ve got a plan here, Stark.”

 

“What, me? Are you crazy? I’m just letting you guys suck me dry. You can have my blood next.” 

 

“Ha. Ha.” Nat supplied, not to be sidetracked. “You’re going to spoil us rotten. I wouldn’t be surprised if my teeth fell out next week.”

 

Tony looked like he’d like to reply, but he didn’t get a chance. Pepper emerged from the hall. She was glowing like a firefly. She ran a delicate hand on Nat’s shoulder, pulling back to allow Stark to embrace her. They shared a little kiss, then turned to Nat. 

 

“Alright, no time for formalities.” He said, taking on a mock serious tone. “We’ve gotta move if we’re going to make it to Sak’s before dinner.” 

 

Stark had no poker face. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, his eyebrows raised and a smile broke out on his face. He’d make a terrible spy. 

 

\----

 

Natasha didn’t think she’d ever had a better day. Much as she loved the action and dirt and grime, the sense of pride and power that came from her job, she rarely had the opportunity to relax. A couple days with Clint came to mind, but stopped just short of this. 

 

She laughed at a joke Pepper made, watching her friend turn an adoring smile on Stark. The strawberry blonde rested a hand on his arm as he tried to start an argument with the waitstaff. Something about them not accepting his tip. Apparently it was  _ too big. _ Natasha suspected this was a point of pride for Stark. He’d managed to spend more money in a day than most people could in a year -rent included- and didn’t seem ready to stop. His next move was to tip the waitstaff -not just  _ their  _ waitstaff- several weeks worth of pay. They weren’t having it. Neither was Stark. 

 

Natasha sat back in amusement while she watched the battle unfold. In one day he’d managed to get them to an in demand brunch place at a hole in the wall diner, ten high end boutiques, one massage, a private picnic lunch in a gazebo at Central Park, three shoe stores, a sit down at an extremely high end hair salon, a mani-pedi and now, a perfect dinner at a beautiful Italian restaurant. With each stop he’d wait patiently in the lobby, engaging when someone would ask an opinion. He’d pop up to the counter to pay when the women had had their fill. He didn’t complain once. She felt so languid that she’d almost missed that gunman hiding behind the french doors in the next room. 

 

“Excuse me.” 

 

“Oh, alright. Everything okay?” Pepper asked, seemingly unconcerned.

 

“Of course. I’ll be right back.” Natasha exited the dining room gracefully, doing a quiet loop of the premises. She walked confidently between the tables, mirroring the body language of the waitstaff. Shoulders back, tight footwork, quick pace. Up ahead a family laughed merrily, bumping elbows at some inside joke. A piece of silverware dropped to the ground, silent on the red carpet. She scooped down as she past, grabbing the fork in a slim hand. “I’ll replace this for you right away.” She said lightly when the nearest patron took notice. 

 

Natasha could see the gunman now, standing casually between the doorframe and a fern. He held a martini glass in one hand, smiling devilishly at a server when she smiled at him. He was good looking, that’s for sure. But incompetent as well, Natasha decided, watching him turn towards the table containing his target. He tucked his gun into one side beneath his crossed arm, silencer fixed to the end. When he next turned away was when Natasha struck, crowding him suddenly. She placed a hand over his mouth, jamming the fork into his leg, pressing him into the wall  _ hard.  _

 

She smiled at a passing server observing them with a skewed eyebrow. “Sorry” she smiled, “Honeymoon.” Satisfied, the server passed. Natasha turned back to the gunman, smile shrinking slightly. “You want to live?” The gunman kept his eyes on hers, going from angry to fearful in a matter of moments.

 

“Hhhmhmm.” 

 

“Great. I think you understand what will happen if you don’t cooperate. Let’s go.”

 

Nat manhandled him silently towards the kitchen, careful to keep his hands glued to his sides, then out the back. They alley was cool despite the summer air, and despite the high end restaurant feeding it waste, it smelled like any other alley. She released the man only for him to turn on her, raising his gun. She took him out with a swing to his legs, bringing a powerful foot down on his chest the second he landed. She broke the gun out of his grip immediately, turning it on him with a quick shot to the thigh. He screamed at the sudden pain but shut up when she pressed a the ball of her foot to the wound. 

 

“Who do you work for?”

 

“Fuck you!” 

 

Natasha moved the gun up to point at the man’s head, hand steady and eyes unwavering. She waited. It only took a few seconds. It only ever took a few seconds. 

 

“The Firing Squad, okay? The Firing Squad.”

 

Natasha smirked. “First of all? That’s a dumb name. Secondly-” She shot him again in the breast “If you don’t want me coming in there and destroying your little boy band, you’re going to leave my friend alone. Capiche?” 

 

“Capiche.” 

 

\----

 

She dismantled the gun in record time and dropped it down a sewer grate, pausing on her way back in to kick the guy again. 

 

\----

 

Despite the grating refusal of the waitstaff to take his generous tip, Tony did notice the moment Natasha left. He figured she was just off to use the washroom and didn’t think more of it. That was for the first five minutes, but five more flew by. He kept his eye on the restaurant for her return, more so after the host finally conceded to his obvious superiority and generosity. 

 

When Natasha did come back, Tony took immediate notice of her Jimmy Choos. They were her favourites. He knew because she’d worn them three times before. She never wore anything more than once. Tony had wondered absently if Natasha actually did  _ own _ any clothes. SHIELD may well supply their agents with a store room of clothes for any occasion, particularly if they were constantly flying around the world. Tony also wondered if Natasha had an apartment. Maybe she had a room at SHIELD where she kept some belongings. He wondered if it was pleasant. Probably not.

 

The more Tony got used to her, the sadder the idea made him. They weren’t exactly on friendly terms all the time, and they’d had an antagonistic start to their relationship. Still, Tony didn’t like the idea that Natasha was kicking ass wearing a pair of hand me down heels. He’d given Pepper his credit card, or not so much given it but realized she always had it, and asked her to get Natasha something as an employee bonus. Pepper had a brain though, and she didn’t phrase it as being an “employee bonus.” Natasha Romanov was not his employee. Still, Pepper must have phrased it in a way that was acceptable to the Russian spy, because she took the shoes. That was nearly a year gone by, in Malibu.

 

On her reentrance to the upscale dining room Natasha slid gracefully into her chair. She sipped her wine casually, striking up a conversation with Pepper, who took it naturally. She’d re-implemented herself without drawing attention, but Tony was quicker than that. He looked at her shoes. They were a bit wet on the bottom, a few stray pieces of dirt stuck to the side. There was a smear of blood on the lower arch. Her dress, a simple clean cut red number that should have clashed with her complexion but didn’t, was bunched ever so slightly at the waist. She had a stray hair. 

 

Tony squinted at her. She took no notice.

 

\----

 

On the way out of the restaurant, Tony turned to Nat. Pepper was up ahead greeting Happy with glowing satisfaction. 

 

Natasha fixed him with a quizzical look. 

 

“You okay?”

 

If anything was wrong, Tony would never know. He’d simply be floored by the memory of her, looking ahead at Pepper, then at him. She smiled. A real, genuine smile. There was warmth in her eyes. A dimple in her cheek. She was flushed below the ears.

 

“Yeah.”

 

\----

 

Pepper invited Coulson and Natasha for tea on a muggy Sunday afternoon. Tony didn’t bother to show up because he didn’t think they’d show up. They did. He cursed them, hunkering down into his workshop, determined not to come out. When the thought eventually occurred to interrogate them about the poster, they were already gone. They’d been there for two hours, sitting on his couch like they owned the place. Tony knew because he watched the video playback while scowling at the poster from the corner of his eye. 

 

\----

 

Tony figured there were only a handful of people who could have put it up. It was either Rhodey, Pepper, Coulson or Natasha. They were the only ones with access to Tony’s workshop. 

 

When grilled, Jarvis had no helpful input to provide. 

 

“Oh really?” Tony snarked towards his sensors. “Wanna pull up the security footage, smart guy?” His screen changed to video mode, a file cropping up with the date from weeks before. The day the poster arrived.  _ “Here is the footage you are requesting, Sir.” _ Jarvis said.

 

“I don’t like your tone, J. And you shouldn’t even have a tone. Did I program that? What was I thinking. I made an AI that judges me. Maybe I do need to talk to a professional-” He rambled, waiting for the video to start. But it crashed. A big frowny face came up instead. A dialogue box read ‘Video File Corrupted / Error 50c6A5’. Tony was speechless. 

 

“Jarvis, is this a security breach?” His voice betrayed a bit of real concern before becoming more suspicious. “Or should I… I should have known you’d be in on it. Damnit! Jarvis, you’re supposed to have my back. I built you!” 

 

_ “It seems to be a program error, Sir. Perhaps if you reprogrammed the video playback application you’d find some success. Of course, you do still need to upgrade the early detection system in the Mark 3.”  _

 

“Traitor.” 

 

Natasha Romanov chose that moment to enter, observing the man yelling at his ceiling. “Going senile Stark? I knew you were old but…”

 

“Don’t even finish that thought.” He supined, shaking a pair of pliers at her. She gazed at the pliers with interest.  

 

“Got big plans today?” 

 

“Home improvement” He smiled chirpily, now pointing the pliers at a wall. She didn’t turn to look. 

 

“Do you know anything about this? He tried again, gesturing at the wall. 

 

“About what?” Natasha faced forward still, locking eyes with Tony. 

 

He pressed his lips into a firm line, darting eyes quickly between hers and the wall. She. Didn’t. Turn. Around. 

 

Tony harrumphed in defeat and sat back down at his desk, pulling up a coding program on his computer. “Can I help you with something?” He asked when she perched on the edge of his desk. 

 

“I need a throwing star that separates into multiple other throwing stars when tossed. Like a Russian Nesting Doll, but with knives.” 

 

He hesitated for only a second. “You’ve come to the right place.” 

 

Distracting Stark from the poster was easier than she’d thought.

 

\----

 

Phil Coulson came to his tower sometimes. Usually when he did he’d bring an irritating slew of ‘helpful suggestions’ for how Tony could improve as both a man and a superhero. Tony usually ignored these suggestions, and if possible, the man himself. And yet Coulson kept coming, bounding from toe to heel with pleasant energy. He’d sit in the corner of Tony’s couch, having tea with Pepper. Or in his kitchen, eating breakfast with Natasha, who also had many ‘Helpful Suggestions’ for him. Sometimes Coulson and Rhodey would sit out on his landing pad. He wouldn’t even invite them in, they’d just be there. Coulson would get dropped off in a helicopter, Rhodey would fly up in his suit. They’d try to tempt him outside with cold beers, but Tony knew it was a trap. He’d stay inside and watch with a frown. It didn’t help curtail Coulson’s visits though.

 

Pepper loved Coulson. She also loved Natasha. In fact, Tony thought one evening watching the agent stroll into his livingroom uninvited, Pepper loved everyone who was trying to improve Tony. He made a mental note to complain to her about this the next time she too came up with a ‘Helpful Suggestion’. He tucked the thought away, turning to face the smartly dressed man who strode up to his table. He didn’t say anything at first, fiddled with the edge of a newspaper. Tony placed a coffee in front of him, the one he’d been preparing for himself to go back into the lab. 

 

“No, thank you. I try not to have caffeine past 7pm.”

 

Tony couldn’t help but snort, though he felt a bit bad about it. Turning into his well stocked kitchen, he fumbled around for a new cup. 

 

“What are you doing, Stark?” Coulson asked politely. Tony thought he probably  _ could  _ have a cup of coffee, he sounded tired. 

 

“I’m making you tea. Assuming you like tea. You are about as exciting as a ninety year old woman, so I’m gonna go ahead and assume that yeah, you like tea.” He thought he saw Coulson trying to resist a smile. 

 

Tony went about boiling water and pulling out a variety of teas. He’d never drink it himself, but Pepper liked them. His selection for decaf came down to chamomile or peppermint. Tony squinted. Chamomile. He tore the package and plunged the little packet into the empty cup, lording over it the next moment with a hot kettle. 

 

Tea made and passed to Coulson’s fatigued hands, Tony settled at last. He took the coffee he’d made and took a relieved sip. 

 

“What are you doing here?” 

 

“I was in the neighbourhood. Thought I’d check in and see how things are going. Do you have anything you’d like to report?” 

 

Tony frowned. “No. And that’s not why you’re here. Fess up.”

 

“There have been some tough calls lately with a powerful energy source SHIELD has their hands on. Calls I’m not entirely happy with. I’m hoping you could provide me with some intel, below the radar.”

 

Tony side eyed him. Coulson did seem unhappy with those calls if his appearance was to be believed. His suit had wrinkles. He had bags under his eyes. 

 

“You wanna tell me more about it?”

 

“Not really.” Coulson hesitated, taking in a breath and sighing tiredly. No immediate clarification was coming, so Tony decided to switch tracts. “You like Nanny shows, right?” To which Coulson looked doubtful. 

 

“...Super Nanny.” 

 

“Hey Jarvis,” Tony called out, “Do we have that? What am I saying, of course we do. Come on champ. You can brief me on the couch.” 

 

Watching with an imperious gaze, Tony was amazed that Coulson actually did enter the livingroom. He sat on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees. His smart argyle dress socks peeped out from under his dress pants. His shoes were as shiny as always. He rubbed a hand roughly over his face to remove the days’ grease, then rubbed the back of his neck. 

 

Super Nanny popped up on the TV. Tony pulled up his tablet, adjusting the volume in case Coulson actually did have something to say. Whatever it was was not easily forthcoming, that much was obvious. Sometimes Coulson would compose himself long enough to look at Tony, then he’d change his mind.

 

And so the genius decided to use this time to work on system updates, debugging a jammed sensor on Dummy’s strut. He eventually settled into his seat in the middle of the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table, muttering about minor input plugs and how he shouldn’t be bothered with it. He was halfway through a line of code when he heard the Super Nanny theme song play, denoting the end of an episode. Out of the corner of his eye Tony watched Coulson, waiting to see if he’d say anything. He didn’t. The man in question had settled halfway into his seat, leaning onto the armrest of the couch, tea in hand. His usually curtly crossed legs were stretched out in front. His eyes bore straight ahead, not really taking in the show.

 

Two hours later Tony had finally finished working out the kinks of the sensor’s input processing. He was ready to move on to a new bug when his mind suddenly flashed to the poster in his workshop. He spun his head around to Coulson, ready to blast off a dozen accusations-

 

Phil Coulson was fast asleep. His hand supported his head on the armrest of the couch, his suit unbuttoned. 

 

It couldn’t be. 

 

After a moment of severe shock Tony very gently took the tea from his hand and placed it on the coffee table, cold and only half drunk. He considered removing the man’s shoes but thought better of it. Coulson needed to sleep. 

 

Tony reached under the coffee table to remove a light blanket, throwing it over Coulson’s lap. After a moment of hesitation Tony very carefully tucked it in behind his back. Then he went back to his work, tapping away on his tablet until the early hours of the morning. 

 

When the sun rose Tony decided to go to bed. He brushed his teeth while wondering if Coulson would get up at some point and ghost like a bad Tinder date. While flossing his teeth he thought back to Natasha, to wondering if she had a place to call home, a place of her own. Tony figured Coulson must have an apartment somewhere, right? Even if he worked almost all the time, travelled to every country on the globe and had no dependants, he must have a place to call his own. But Tony wasn’t so sure. 

 

“Jarvis.” 

 

_ “Yes Sir.”  _ Came the hushed reply.

 

“Let me know when Coulson leaves, alright?”

 

_ “Certainly.”  _

 

\----

 

Coulson was gone in the morning. 

 

_ “He left at 8:38am, Sir. He helped himself to a cup of coffee before going.”  _

 

“Figures.” Tony muttered. He wasn’t bothered that Coulson left without saying goodbye, or that he never discussed the energy source that had him so flustered. He wasn’t upset that Coulson had fallen asleep on his couch, nor that he’d helped himself to Tony’s kitchen. He hadn’t managed to get an answer about the damned poster. 

 

\----

 

When Rhodey saw the poster he couldn’t contain himself. He laughed himself silly, knocking over several valuable prototypes Tony had completely forgotten about, but still admonished him over. Rhodey laughed so hard he cried, took a picture of Tony with it in the background, then left. The post was up on Twitter later that afternoon. 

 

@RealRhodey - 2:42pm

_ Soccer mom confirmed at Stark Tower @IAmIronMan _

 

Tony scowled at it. At least he knew Rhodey didn’t put it up. 

 

\----

 

Pepper denied any involvement. He hounded her over the phone at one point. 

_ Tony: And I’m just supposed to believe you know nothing about this? _

_ Pepper: How could I have time to sabotage your workshop when I spend all my time running your company?  _

_ Tony: You’re the most capable woman I know. You could have pulled it off. I’ve seen you juggle more than just a silly company and a vendetta before, Potts.  _

_ Pepper: What was that, Tony? You love me so much and you’re going to take me to Paris next weekend? Aww. _

 

Tony glowered into his cellphone. She couldn’t see him. Tony pressed a couple buttons on his phone. 

 

In Peppers office a screen popped up on her TV. Tony’s peeved face appeared on it. 

 

_ Tony: You’re telling me you know nothing about  _ **_this?_ **

 

He pointed his camera at the wall, showing the poster virtually unscathed in his workshop. She giggled behind a manicured hand. It really  _ was  _ awful.

 

_ Pepper: Well whoever put it up must know you veeery well. It suits you.  _

 

Tony frowned deeply into the screen. 

 

_ Pepper: I have a meeting to go to. I hope you find your secret admirer.  _

_ Tony: I thought you were my secret admirer.  _

_ Pepper: Well that just doesn’t make any sense. Love you? _

 

Tony averted his eyes from the camera. He’d finally said the words the previous morning. Pepper sneezed into her coffee and followed up with an “Oh shoot!” and the words just came tumbling out. From that moment he avoided saying them again. Pepper couldn’t let it go. 

 

_ Tony: Yeah okay bye. _

 

She stared after the screen for a moment. A ring came on the other line, it was for the meeting. “Are you making your way down, Miss Potts?” 

 

She smiled into the phone. “I’ll be right there.”

 

_ \---- _

 

There was nothing to be done about the poster. All attempts to mask it was undone by an unknown force. The person who put it up remained at large. Jarvis was in on it, hiding any footage behind a security wall. Tony tried to break said wall, but he got bored and distracted. What’s worse, Rhodey had ordered a T-Shirt with the picture of Tony standing in front of the poster and wore it on a joint mission. When they were done he had Tony step out of the suit, then grabbed a quick selfie. He was smiling impishly, but in that moment Tony saw the shirt. Tony frowned like an upset toddler. Twitter loved it. 

 

\----

 

He eventually got used to the poster. He might have even liked it a little. He’d never admit that, of course. He hated the way it looked in his lab. But he came to appreciate what it represented. 

 

\----

 

**_Tues 3:31am_ **

_ Tony Stark: Your floor is ready.  _

_ Coulson: What floor is that? _

_ Tony Stark: Your floor. At the tower. Floor 49. It’s there when you need it. _

_ Coulson: I don’t quite catch your meaning.  _

_ Tony Stark: There’s tea in the cupboard for you. I didn’t know what kind of cereal you liked so I bought all of them.  _

_ Coulson: I see.  _

 

**_Wed 9:45pm_ **

_ Phil Coulson sent an image file. Downloaded.  _

 

It was a picture of a small house plant on a low window sill. There was a gorgeous view of New York in the background. It was the type of plant that would need regular watering. 

 

“Jarvis, look up the plant and set a schedule for watering. Let me know if Coulson misses a day.” 

 

_ “Very well, Sir.”  _

 

Tony looked at the picture again. Later that week he’d get a copy printed out. It went up on his fridge. When Pepper saw it she got a peculiar look in her eye, placed her hand gently on Tony’s bicep. He wasn’t sure what the big deal was. He should just take it down. It was a dumb idea. 

 

“It’s lovely, Tony.” She’d said. 

 

The picture and the poster remained.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter and then we'll be into the Avengers proper.
> 
> Fanart for this chapter will be submitted here when it's done. You can also check out my Imgur directly at /user/DeadEngine/posts.
> 
> Thanks as always for the views :-)


	4. Tony Handles a Crisis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha gets into a bar fight, Tony buys a restaurant (and also gets into a bar fight), the American government makes themselves useless, and Tony has a family.

Tony never officially ‘told’ Natasha she could move into the tower. He had no distinct memory of mentioning it, nor did he recall giving her the access code to her floor. Even though it  _ was _ her floor. Floor 50. 

 

Tony would have liked to congratulate himself for a while before handing over the code.

 

Now Natasha was living in his home. It happened slowly at first. She’d slink into Tony’s flat in the early morning, still wearing some frightening get up from a mission or looking worse for wear. She’d perch lightly at the kitchen island, munching quietly on Cocoa Puffs, of all things. If she was really tired she’d take a nap on Tony’s couch. Sometimes she’d arrive in the middle of the night and just watch his TV for hours on end, saying nothing and doing nothing and interacting with nobody. Tony had set an alert for when this happened, just in case she came in when no one was available to check on her.

 

_ “Good morning, Sir.” _

 

“Why… Jarvis… why….”

 

_ “It would appear Mrs. Romanov has arrived.” _

 

“What time is it?”

 

_ “4:12AM, Sir.” _

 

Tony’s bed was very comfortable and he was certain he could stay there if he gave it a minute or two. He let out a deep sigh, relaxing deeply into his soft duvet. His room was slightly cool, the only illumination coming from the city lights. It was totally silent save for the low hum of the AC. His peace only lasted a moment before a litany of noise come thundering from the kitchen. He was out of bed and walking before both his eyes were open, rounding a corner to come to a stop.

 

“Oooh hey, Tone.” Came a slurred voice from the dimly lit space. Tony furrowed his brow, cursing her presence already. She was going to give him wrinkles.

 

Natasha Romanov was sat halfway on one of his barstools, short skirt hiked up one thigh and blouse torn on one shoulder. There was blood on her shoes, blood on her leg, blood on her shoulder and pouring out of her nose. She had a split lip and a blossoming bruise on one temple. Her red hair had come halfway out of an updo, now tucked hastily behind one ear. Her slim fingers were applying pressure to a wound on her leg. 

 

“Shit.” Tony said, coming into her space to brace her as she slipped down her chair. “Shit. Shit.”

 

“It’s okay. Just a lil’ bullet. M’ gonna get it out riiight…. Now…” She slurred, wrenching a pocket knife towards her leg. Tony dashed a hand out to stop her, nearly failing. Her wrist went limp. Tony tucked a few hairs back behind her ear to get a good look only to find Natasha’s eyes had fallen shut.

 

“Oh my god.” Tony muttered. “Jarvis.” 

 

_ “I would advise you to move Mrs. Romanov to a safer location.”  _ Came the robotic reply. 

 

Tony let out a shuddering breath. “Alright, you heard the man. We’ve gotta get you up. Like, now.” He said, trying to keep her from standing while also maintaining balance to keep her from slipping. Tony wasn’t sure if it would be well received, but he saw no other option. “Upsy daisy.” He groaned, and lifted Natasha up in a bridal carry. She came back to awareness long enough to dig a hand into Tony’s sweatshirt. He staggered to his guest bathroom where he very gently laid his friend down, then ducked out quickly to get towels. When he came back in, Natasha was conscious again, clutching pressure against her leg. Her eyes seemed to have cleared somewhat. “There you are...” She muttered quietly. “We need some tools.” 

 

“Tools. Right. First aid kit. Okay. I’ll be right back. Jarvis, keep me informed.” He didn’t like the idea of leaving her there, bleeding on his bathroom floor, ( _ “Mrs. Romanov has applied a tourniquet to her leg”), _ but the pressing need to medically intervene was overshadowing his fear ( _ “She has broken your mirror with a shoe, Sir”) _ , sending him gliding into the elevator and down to the labs ( _ “Mrs. Romanov has incised the wound, monitoring bleeding”) _ to grab his medical kit, then back up in a flash ( _ “She has excised the bullet, Sir.”)  _

 

By the time Tony got back into the bathroom he was entirely out of breath, trying to maintain some sense of clarity while he took in the scene. She’d excised the bullet alright, leaving a larger incision in its wake. The bullet had rolled next to the sink, leaving a crest of dotted red in its wake. Tony wondered briefly if he could bring her to a hospital. Probably not. Then he’d move on to the next best thing. “Jarvis. Call Coulson please.” 

 

The rings sounded over the intercom while Tony tried to fold a towel under Natasha’s head- it was resting uncomfortably on the step to the guest bathtub. The sound reverberated in the otherwise silent room, heart pounding in his chest with each ring. Natasha was unconscious again. He propped her leg over his own outstretched thigh. Checked the incision. No busted arteries. Tightened the tourniquet. Pulled out a blood clotting solution from his kit. Uncapped it. Gently pushed the plunger until it filled the wound. 

 

“Stark? What’s the matter?” 

 

“Hey, uh… Are you here? Tonight? Are you downstairs?” 

 

“No. Why? Is everything okay with you?” 

 

Tony wasn’t sure how to respond. Coulson was Natasha’s handler, he should already know she was here. He should know she was bleeding profusely onto his marble floors, eyes shut peacefully against her pale skin. 

 

“Yeah. Great. Just wanted to know if you finished the latest season?” He supplied, mind not really on the phone call. He was pressing his fingertips into Nat’s wrist. Her heartbeat was steady. The bleeding had stopped. A bit of colour was already returning to her face. 

 

“Not yet. Don’t finish it without me.” 

 

Tony filled a syringe with alcohol, dousing the outer layer of her incision, then used a swab to clean the rest. He took another look at the hole. It wasn’t as bad as it could have been.

 

Tony huffed a laugh. “No problem. Night.”  

 

He loosened the band around her leg, allowing her blood to flow more freely. Nothing spurted out of the hole, which he took as a good sign.

 

Coulson signed off, his line making a clicking noise over the intercoms. Jarvis came back online. 

 

_ “How are you feeling, Madame?”  _

 

The brunette whipped his head up, eyes meeting his friends. She was awake again and staring directly at him, making Tony halt like a clam in sand. He didn’t look away, then very slowly leaned closer to her, reaching out his hand. 

 

Tony brushed his thumb under her nose, removing some of the blood where it was starting to dry. He shook his head very slowly, unable to process or speak about what happened. This seemed to suit the redhead just fine. “You did good… with Coulson... Think you could stitch me up?” 

 

He nodded slowly, seeming to break out of a haze the more he allowed himself to move. Shaking hands scoured the bathroom floor for the discarded First Aid kit. They plucked out a needle, thread, gauze and antiseptic from the little pack. “You’ll need to remove a bit of that stuff.” She directed, watching Tony’s eyes come back into focus. 

 

“Right.” He looked up at her, kept watch on her face while he squeezed the wound to push out some of the anti-clotting gel, then wiped it gently away. Natasha, for her part, hardly reacted at all, so Tony kept going. He re-swapped her leg again for good measure, tossing the bloodied pad into the garbage, then threaded his needle. His stomach turned at the thought of stitching a conscious person -or really any person- but he pushed the nausea down. 

 

“Doing great, Tony. You can go ahead and start now.” 

 

Natasha continued to coach him through the process stitch after stitch, hiding her discomfort in order to keep them moving quickly. By the time Tony was done, he looked worse off. Natasha had bounced back with unfair vigor, colour filling her face and eyes casting an encouraging presence. When Tony was done he sat placidly, looking at the needle and thread in his hand. 

 

“I’m totally useless at this.” He said dejectedly. A shadow of guilt passed over his face. “I should have known what to do.” 

 

The assassin leaned forward, leg still resting atop her friend’s, reaching a comforting hand towards him to calm his shaking. The moment she touched him his eyes flashed a her, a steely resolve settling in to every line of his face before he looked away again, unable to meet her gaze. “I’m going to do better. I’m gonna learn. I’m- I’m going to be reliable, next time someone needs medical.. Instead of just… Instead of doing this. Instead of being useless.” 

 

Natasha shook her head in response. She felt out of her breadth with Stark, totally overrun by these startling moments of depth, never sure if they’d be followed by warmth or shame. 

 

Pepper told her early on that Tony was too giving, and too self conscious to accept anything in return. Any mote of love and companionship you wanted to give back had to be provided in a way he wouldn’t accept but would begrudgingly tolerate. You had to present him with your presence like it was a problem that needed to be solved. She looked at the Arc Reactor sitting in her friends bare chest. It was no wonder he couldn’t trust those closest to him to provide some shelter.

 

Right now, she couldn’t tell him that he did great. That he’d probably kept her from a long term injury. That he’d read between the lines with Coulson. She couldn’t say thank you for what he did because he felt that what he’d done was not enough. She’d have to do it another way, and she’d have to do it soon. Stark looked like he was barreling towards a panic attack, and in her fatigued condition, Natasha didn’t think she could handle that. 

 

“Have you got any beer?” She asked, landing a heavy hand on his shoulder in a deliberately awkward show of comfort. His eyes met hers, concentration still a little off. “Not to drink, just to put on the wound...” She offered him a small smile, sitting up against the step. “And then to drink. After.”

 

It took a moment, two, three, four, then Stark was looking at her.  _ Really  _ looking at her. Like he knew she was up to something, but couldn’t pinpoint it. 

 

“Yeah.” He shook his head to clear it, taking in the state of his bathroom. There was broken glass on the floor interspersed with bloody fingerprints and metal tools and discarded swabs. “Let’s clean this up tomorrow.” Tony said, but Natasha smiled. 

 

“It’ll be easier if we do it tonight. Don’t worry, I’ll just sit here and watch you. I’m not big on moving.” 

 

That got a laugh from him, spurring him on to help Natasha up the steps and out of the way of the glass. He darted out and returned with two beers which Natasha opened with a whack on the sink edge, making Tony give an exasperated eye roll. He grimaced when being handed his beer, frowning at the bloody neck, but took a sip while locking eyes with her. Then he smiled, and off he went. 

 

The bathroom only took twenty minutes to clear. While he worked his redheaded friend gently washed the blood off of herself, legs draped in his bathtub. She removed her shirt ( _ Eyes up, buttercup)  _ and cleaned her bloody shoulder, checking herself over for other cuts. By the time the twenty minutes were up, the bathroom was  _ not  _ spotless, but given the Stark seal of approval, and Natasha was clean. Tony gave her one of Pepper’s night shirts and his bathrobe and left the room to preserve her dignity while she changed, then came back to get her.

 

He helped her hobble into the livingroom to sit in front of the TV. He was getting them another couple beers while Natasha gingerly flipped through the channels. He was certain she shouldn’t be drinking after losing blood, but didn’t think he could handle an argument. From where she was ensconced in the couch she chimed “Can you go get my ice-cream?” 

 

Tony checked the freezer, eliciting a frown when there was none to be found. “We’ve got none. I can run out-”

 

“It’s in my freezy, downstairs.” 

 

Tony froze. Natasha shot him a look of huffy amusement. He searched for something to say. Something smart. Nothing smart was coming to mind. 

 

“What?”

 

“My freezer. On my floor.” 

 

“How did you-”

 

“Oh come on, Stark. Don’t tell me you didn’t know.” 

 

“I don’t recall giving you an  _ access code.”  _ He reprimanded, squinting at Jarvis’ nearest sensor as he did. “I wonder who could have let you in.” He turned a judgemental look her way. She was looking back, a smidge of uncertainty was written in the way she pulled forward.

 

He felt like an asshole. Tony allowed himself a moment of self judgement before steeling himself, pulling back his shoulders and clearing his face of scrutiny. 

 

“I’ll go get it.” 

 

Fifteen minutes later they were both settled on the couch in their night shirts and sleep pants and bathrobes and blankets, beer bottles new and drunk scattered about the coffee table. Two spoons plunged merrily into a container of coffee ice cream. Toy Story was on. The sun was starting to rise over New York City.

 

Halfway through the movie Natasha stretched her injured leg on the coffee table, moving a bit robotically from the stiffness. She settled into Tony’s side, still working on a beer. He was staring at her long pale leg, but wasn’t taking in it’s form. He was looking at the bullet wound. Now in the faint light of morning it didn’t seem nearly as intimidating. It was about the size of a dime, dotted with little stitches. Tony had to admit, now that his monumental guilt had passed, even the stitches looked okay. 

 

“Your access code is 6.”

 

Natasha snorted. “What?” 

 

“It’s 6.”

 

“Are you serious? One number? That’s crazy, how do you expect to keep this place secure like that? There is something wrong with you, Stark.” Natasha admonished him playfully. She stopped at the look on his face. His features were crumbling again, giving way to some feeling. His eyes were wide and soft and sad. In the background, Buzz Lightyear was giving up on getting back into Andy’s room. 

 

“It’s always been that way, you know. Since before I moved in here. Well just before -at least. I had the firm draw up some plans on a living space. Just in case. Cause I was wondering, all the time, if you had somewhere to keep your shoes. You know, the ones I-The ones Pepper bought you. And I thought about it and thought about it constantly. The idea just made me frustrated, you know? Cause you’re a great person, Romanov. I don’t know if people tell you that to your face or not, but you are. And I just… I was wrong about you, and when I realized I was wrong I just wanted to do something to make up for it. I wanted to give you a place you could come, if you ever felt like you needed to, or felt like you needed to get away, from SHIELD, the job, just get away,-”

 

Natasha felt like she understood. Getting away from SHIELD wasn’t just a matter of leaving. If you had a day off, you still needed an agency’s worth of protection and protocols and firearms to feel safe. That, or Stark level security. She nodded along, losing all pretense of watching the movie. 

 

“-And so when we were moving from Malibu, you had your feet in my lap, remember? And I thought it was so annoying, cause first you tricked me into doing  _ labour,  _ ew, by the way, and then you stole my churro, and then you put your feet in my lap, and I was going to give you shit for it. But the way you looked. It just made me feel like I had to do something, I had this responsibility. Because you trusted me. You trusted me-”

 

“I do trust you, Tony.” She softly reassured.

 

“I know, I know that, and so here I was on the jet, I had a couple hours to kill. And I just thought hey, Natasha is always cramping my style. She’s always sleeping on my couch and eating all my food, might as well give her a place to sleep. And then it just took off. It started as a room, and then I thought, you know, you needed a place to cook, and to store all the clothes that I don’t think you even own - I’m going to fix that, by the way - and then it turned into this. And I made one for Coulson, too. And I told him, because he seems like he really needs a place to go right now.. But I never told you, because I didn’t want to offend you or make you think that I thought that you-” 

 

Natasha cut him off. She just couldn’t watch him spiral, so she placed a hand over his mouth for a second, watching his mind catch up. When he settled, she removed it, giving him a moment to compose himself. 

 

“It’s yours. If you need it. Anytime. No strings. I don’t need anything back. It’s just yours.” 

 

In years to come, when Natasha needed to pinpoint a moment that made her feel completely justified in backing Tony Stark up for any reason, any time, anything, this memory would spring to mind. The way Tony Stark looked when he said it, “It’s just yours”, backlit by the rising New York sun, a bit of blood dried on his thumb where it was brushing over the neck of his beer, his bathrobe crumpled and softly illuminated by the arc reactor in his chest, eyes alight with a certainty, a certainty  _ about her,  _ and the way his voice sounded strong. 

 

“I’ll take it.”

  
  


\----

 

Natasha didn’t officially have anything to move in, just like Coulson. Tony did notice her presence becoming more regular in the months following, often finding her pillaging his fridge. There was a modest gym in the building that she made Tony go to sometimes. It made him wish he’d never put a gym in at all. Sometimes Tony would catch her sneaking upstairs to sit on his couch in the middle of the night and they’d watch movies together. Other times she’d slip into his workshop, probing him about some weapons upgrade or chemical synthetisation. Then she’d be gone, just like that. 

 

Sometimes it was days, others -weeks, but she usually came back with nary an explanation. Tony was starting to notice Coulson following a similar pattern. Being gone for a while, then staying several days at once. They both seemed on edge, neither would discuss why, not with him and it seemed, not with each other. Whatever project SHIELD was working on had them both stressed out. Tony wondered if either knew the other felt the same way, or perhaps they were on opposite ends of a divide. Somehow, Tony didn’t think that the case.

 

He never asked, not because it wasn’t his place, or that he wasn’t unbearably nosy. Tony didn’t want to do anything to upset the status quo.

 

\----

 

One gorgeous mid Autumn evening on return from a mission abroad, Tony and Rhodey went to a dive bar. They dropped their suits at the tower, threw on clean clothes and hailed the first taxi in sight. It went about as well as you’d expect. They got too drunk, started an uncoordinated karaoke of Piano Man, bought shots for everyone in the bar (several times), ate wings and started a fist fight with each other. 

 

They were in the grimy mostly vacant parking lot. Rhodey swung a punch, missed, then rolled onto the ground. Tony tried to kick him and failed, almost falling as well. As he corrected himself Rhodey grabbed on, getting pulled up with his friend’s momentum, sending them both careening into the hood of an old Toyota Corolla. They hit the hood hard, winded, and laughed when they caught their breath. 

 

“Hey Tony” Rhodey said, slapping his friend in the arm. “Hey man. Hey.”

 

“Hey” Tony replied, grinning and poking his friend in the shoulder. 

 

“I’m hungry. We need food.” 

 

“I’ve got just the thing.” 

 

\----

 

Drunk bar patrons were cycling into the street in loud gaggles as they talked excitedly about new plans. The sidewalks were filled with vendors. Hotdogs and kebabs and falafel were passed from hand to hand as people got their drunk food fix. Tony was not one of those people. He’d gotten off the phone before they started the walk from the taxi, hobbling up to an old store front in their drunken glee. 

 

Tony had lost his suit jacket at some point. Rhodey knew it probably cost more than a modest car. His friend’s silken tie was loosened and tossed over one shoulder, top buttons to his pin striped dress shirt undone. He’d managed to maintain both of his shoes. 

 

Rhodey wasn’t in much better condition. His windbreaker was tied around his waist like a middle aged woman, polo shirt riding up on one side and one of his socks had rolled into his shoe. He thought if he bent down to roll it back up he might fall over, so he followed after his drunk friend instead. They came to the little store front, it was in an older building with a bay window on one side of the door and large windows on the other, trim painted in vibrant orange. Rhodey tried to make out the name. It took a few tries, the familiar loopy cursive writing seeming like nothing more than doodles to his inebriated brain. Then it struck him. 

 

“Duuuude.”

 

Twenty minutes on they received paper wrapped parcels from a very impatient looking teenager. “Will that be all, Sir?” He asked Tony derisively. 

 

“We’re gonna need more fries.” The impatient brunette said, flopping his container of fries against the salad protector. “Way more.”

 

“Tell me you didn’t buy the franchise.” Rhodey said from half lidded eyes, gesturing a roast beef sandwich at his friend once they were outside. They sat on a curbside, lights from passing taxis illuminating the busy street. The party goers were starting to clear off, street vendors closing down. 

 

“What can’I say, Rhodes. I  _ had _ to have it. Francielli’s makes the best sandwich in town!”

 

“Yeah” Rhodey laughed, nudging his friend, “In LA.”

 

“You’ll come around.” Tony unwrapped the paper from his food. Looking over at his friend, sitting with his windbreaker bunched on the chilly sidewalk, eyes reflecting the street lamps above, Tony was reminded of a night not so far in the past. Rhodey’s eyes had gazed out at the dark Malibu sea, he’d passed Tony a similar parcel from the same jacket. 

 

“We need to start meeting in the daytime.” Tony said. 

 

“Are you admitting you’re getting old?”  

 

“No.” 

 

Several minutes passed before Rhodey spoke up again. “Were they closed before?”

 

Tony laughed. He laughed, in fact, for several minutes, leaning on Rhodes for support. “Oh my god. They were. I asked the owner to send someone in-”

 

“Good lord. What is wrong with you, man.”

 

\----

 

**_6:09am_ **

_ Tony: Saldcwhich _

 

_ Tony: Sandwhich _

 

**_6:24am_ **

_ Tony: I got you a sandwich _

 

**_6:31am_ **

_ Tony: Intbh fridge. _

 

**_12:21pm_ **

_ Natasha: It’s half eaten. _

 

_ Tony: ...  _

 

\----

 

“And you deny any involvement,  _ Mr. Stark?”  _

 

“I do.”

 

“Our intel makes it very clear that you are lying. How do you propose to refute these charges?”

 

“Iron Man couldn’t be there the night of the third. Yeah, you know-” The swarthy man turned to wink at a member of the audience when a little ‘whoop’ was made, “I was taking my lady out.” 

 

“As you’ve stated. Are you able to provide any concrete proof? As far as I can tell, Mr. Stark, you are incapable of addressing this matter with any of the dignity it deserves.” 

 

“That’s because it’s ridiculous. And I can, actually. It was our anniversary, two years. I took her to Paris for fashion week. If you bothered to do literally any of your jobs, Senators, I wouldn’t be here, because you would have seen me in the event coverage. Sitting in the front row. All week.” 

 

Shuffling could be heard from the heavy black robes draped over the members of the panel. Shiny black loafers and pumps could be seen peeking out underneath. A red blouse flashed before again being obscured. One member adjusted their ill-chosen bow tie. Tony tried not to laugh at the fashion choice, he had bold tastes afterall, but the little green dotted bowtie announced itself shamelessly. The owner of said bowtie was not an impressive looking man, scrawny with clammy skin and droopy eyes, he padded his nose with a crumpled hanky. Tony tried not to let himself fixate on the man. He tapped his phone screen a few times- 

 

“That’s not going to work again, Mr. Stark, we’ve secured the screens from-”

 

“Oh. Oops. I got in. Too bad, this must be embarrassing for you.” He joshed, grinning widely at the crowd. Cameras followed his every move, catching how he moved items out of the way. He was clearing the screen. 

 

“What are you doing now? I’ll have you know this is a breach-”

 

“Yeah, it must be. Look at that. Wow!” Tony laughed as he tossed out the last items. Underneath an image was becoming clearer until only the desktop remained. 

 

Now visible to the audience and the world at large, Tony clacked away at his phone screen until the desktop changed. It was footage from Paris Fashion Week. A tall blonde woman was walking fiercely down the aisle, gold asymmetrical dress falling away to reveal a deep black velour bodysuit underneath, jewelled brooch holding both pieces together. In the background, if you cared to look, sat Tony Stark and Pepper Potts, chatting excitedly about the clothes. Tony made some wavy hand gestures and whipped his hands around his neck, he was trying to explain something. Apparently he wasn’t doing it well, or maybe it was a dumb idea, because Pepper shook her head with a laugh. 

 

“There you go. It’s on autoplay. There’s seventeen hours of compiled footage here. I’ve made it your desktop so you can’t  _ lose it again.  _ I’ve also sent it to all of your emails with my time stamped receipts and security footage from the hotel to cover the rest of our stay. If you’d actually bother to  _ look at the evidence _ , you might reconsider.” Tony turned a spurious eye to the reporters behind him. “Hey, you got me in there?” 

 

“We’ve got you.”

 

“Great.” Tony replied, now ignoring whatever the panel was trying to say. “For those at home, we’re just recording a prime example of how the American justice system is broken.” 

 

**“Mr Stark.”**

 

Tony snapped his eyes back to the senator at the front of the panel. What was his name - Something unimportant, for sure. Demoine or Demoins or something. Stern was surely in the building, still recovering from the verbal beatdown Tony had doled out the previous day. 

 

“That does not absolve you. We have video evidence of your Iron Man suit in Poland the day of the attack.”

 

“Right.” He rocked forward in his chair, unbuttoning his jacket, then pulled out his phone again. “You’re absolutely right. That video footage that never came out on national news, whose source you’ve hidden, for an attack people are saying didn’t happen. Because Iron Man does not instigate with civilians. Let’s look at that footage.” He was pulling up the video file now, it clashed terribly with the new desktop. 

 

They’d all seen the footage. It showed Iron Man blasting into a building in a small Polish town, shooting a ballistic at what appeared to be a government vehicle. It showed the Iron Man punching another car which slid ten feet into a phone poll. The Iron Man suit turned into the building, coming out a minute later with a briefcase, supposedly filled with classified files. The eyewitnesses the panel provided were dubious at best, lazy at worst. Their testimony had gone all over the map.

 

“Here it is.” He said, pushing index finger and thumb outward to enlarge. He repeated the motion several times until they got a close up on Iron Man, then with a clack of his fingers the zoom started to follow the figure. “Let’s slow down here.”

 

“This is a totally inappropriate use of our time-”

 

“-Mm- Gotta disagree there. Let’s up the contrast too. Okay.” He swivelled back in his seat again to view his audience, catching their attention with earnest brown eyes. The people loved to love him. 

 

“Oh! What do we have here? Is that pixelation? That’s weird, it only follows Iron Man. It  _ almost  _ looks like. No. It couldn’t be-” He intoned playfully, now grinning mischievously. “It almost looks like  _ this  _ footage actually came from  _ this  _ video.”

 

A new clip popped up, showing Iron Man shooting towards the ground to stand in front of a kid and an older man with a shotgun, punching a robot, kicking another, it’s head flew into the barn. He went in and came back out with the head, then blasted off. 

 

“You know who took this video?” Tony asked. He was going in for the kill. The senators seemed to know this, they sat back in resignation. Demoin or Demoine or Jean or whoever it was cleared their throat. 

 

“Why don’t you tell us?”

 

“Claudia. Lovely young woman, she was recording from the house when this happened. She’s getting married next month to a very nice young man. You know how I know?”

 

“How do you know” came the sighing response. 

 

“I’ve been invited to their wedding. I’m going to give a toast. They said it was the least they could do after I  _ saved their lives  _ from those hydra drones. This footage was remotely copied from her phone. I wonder who would do such a thing. A enemy of Iron Man? No?” 

 

Cheering had begun in the coiffeurs of the crowd and moved forward. Tony gave another wink to the cameras, reaching out to shake the hands of his legal team and the eager crowd. He even shook the hand of the camera man behind him. He turned back to the panel quickly, “I trust my legal team can handle it from here. I think there was the matter of settling my legal fees for a frivolous lawsuit.” 

 

\----

 

Tony left congress in his Iron Man suit, grateful when the HUD came on. The familiar pressure of the suit soothed his frayed nerves, the statistics popping up on the screen gave him something else to focus on. He was frustrated with the ongoing accusations, frustrated with attacks from Hydra, frustrated that he had to consult with SHIELD about some mystery item they wouldn’t even let him see, frustrated that his shareholders were starting to go the corporate route of demanding short term profit, putting the pressure on Tony to come out with new inventions every week. He needed to have a conversation with Rhodey about the government, with Coulson about SHIELD, with Pepper about the shareholders. That’s what they wanted anyways, what they were always saying. Tony needed to rely on his network, needed to trust that they’d have his back when it got to be too much. But the idea of asking for help made Tony’s stomach churn, the last thing he needed was acid reflux. 

 

_ “Mr. Coulson is inquiring on your arrival time, Sir.”  _

 

“A couple hours, J. I need a breather.”

 

Tony flew around for a few hours. He stopped to look at the view from a mountaintop, pushed boulders down the mountainside to watch them crash and shatter at the bottom. He sat by the coast to have a cup of coffee, metal legs thrown over the end of a pier and sunglasses obscuring his face. A kid came up for an autograph. He popped off the kid’s hat, signed it, then popped it on backwards, patting the kid on the head. The parents took a picture and left. 

 

Alone again, Tony sighed. He’d had to go home sometime. 

 

It didn’t stop him from getting an icecream cone, though. That was after one of his legs fell through the pier. It was to cheer him up. The vendor’s name was Pete, and he claimed it was the best icecream on the coast. Tony had had a thousand dollar ice-cream with gold flakes and edible jewels made from the best concentrated exotic fruit juices in the world. He thought this was better though. He told Pete as much, pleased when the man preened at the compliment. He got a bubblegum cone and bought Pete one as well. Pete had sea salt caramel. “You’ve got good taste, Pete.” Tony said with a concerted gaze. 

 

Pete wiped a bit of ice cream from his nose. “You know robots. I know icecream. I guess you could say we’re men of our trades.” He gave Tony a coupon. “Two FREE cones. One for you. One for your sweetheart. Come by and let us soft SERVE you.” Tony laughed and tucked it into the neck of his suit. Not for the first time, he wished he’d designed it with pockets. 

 

\----

 

Tony was feeling marginally better when he landed back at the tower. He walked slowly as the platforms’ arms removed pieces of the suit, stowing it for the next use. The flat was a glowing reprieve from the cold weather, the smell of food wafting out of the slightly ajar landing door. He could hear the sounds of happy chatter and the laugh track from the TV. Pepper was wearing a T-Shirt and jeans, hair loosened to fall over one shoulder. Her eyes glimmered like diamonds as she laughed and joked with Natasha, both women leaning over the kitchen island to read a recipe displayed on a tablet. Coulson was sat in his usual spot on the couch, face turned towards the women to offer some commentary between glances at the TV. He was polishing one of his black lace up shoes before putting it back on, reaching a hand out to grab his beer resting precariously on the back of the couch. All three laughed at something in the recipe. Natasha caught his eye through the glass, held it for a minute before turning back to Pepper. She didn’t acknowledge Tony, standing out there in the cold in just a shirt and trousers, hair whisked in the wind and uncertainty written all over his features. Not for the first time, he was grateful for her tact. He was on the outside of it all, and in that moment, all his feelings from the day were too much to handle. 

 

He took the exterior stairs up to the roof. A vent shaft sat near the edge of the roof, giving an exquisite view of the city. 

 

This is where Tony Stark sat that evening, having nothing to brace him against the bitter winds of New York winter. He watched the glowing yellow rooms fill with people laughing, dancing and eating, coming together with friends and family for warmth and company. Trees lining the streets were lit up with twinkling lights, wreaths were put up in apartment windows to share the seasons joy. Happy people walked briskly from store to store, bags filled with presents braced under shivering arms. 

 

Tony had hated New York growing up. There were people everywhere, going about their lives with complete disregard for his dissatisfaction. In a city of seven million people Tony had felt alone. He met Rhodey in high school, a fast friendship forming between them. Even after Tony dropped out and went to MIT, Rhodey was a constant in his life he could rely on. And just like that, he was gone. Tony’s parents died in a car crash. It was right before his graduation. The depression that seized him was unbearable. Rhodey couldn’t get through to him at the time, his friendship became null for Tony. He was too numb to process compassion. He poured himself into his work, developing U and Dummy in a manic state, Jarvis following not long after. For a long time, they were his only family. 

 

Obadiah Stane moved Tony to LA on his eighteenth birthday, and Tony had  _ loved  _ it. He’d never had so much space to move around, nor such common values with the people around him. He was vain, afterall, consumed with materialism and pride, and so were the people. Tony didn’t make any real friends out there, but he did have a sense of community with the people of LA, he felt like he fit in. That changed after Afghanistan. 

 

Now back in New York, sometimes Tony was happier than ever. He had a strange little family that lived in his house. He had enough money to stay in his tower forever if he chose, or a suit that would take him anywhere in the world when the walls were getting too close. 

 

Tonight, none of that security could reach him. He was empty, just a hollow shell. Feeling the same numbness from his parent’s death creep into his heart.  His brief happiness like the wind blowing through the streets, felt for a fleeting moment before dissipating. 

 

Tony stayed up there until the lights of the city started to dim, hue lowering from a soft yellow to a deep orange. His hair was windswept, face almost devoid of colour. His cold fingers were tucker under his armpits for warmth. He’d sat on the ground, back against the warm vent shaft. He may have slept there if he wasn’t startled from his reverie by a soft hand on his shoulder and a kiss on his head. A hot cup of cocoa and a sweater were placed next to him. 

 

Tony sat up slowly, body stiff from cold, to take the sweater. It took him a moment to put it on, but Oh. It was so warm. 

 

“Natasha ran it through the dryer first.” 

 

Pepper sat next to him, tucking her own long sweater beneath her for padding. Her long legs folded gracefully underneath, Uggs adorned her feet. She pressed the cocoa into Tony’s hands. 

 

“Drink that. You’ll feel better.”

It smelled wonderful, lightly spicy and deeply sweet, it’s rich brown froth adorned with mini marshmallows on top, set up in the shape of a heart. Tony felt his chest tighten, his eyes heat up. He turned his face away and shut his eyes tight, but he couldn’t hide anything from Pepper. Hot tears came fast, cheeks flushing deep pink. Pepper wrapped him in a gentle hug, kissing the side of his head again. She carded her fingers through his curly hair. “Wanna talk about it?”

 

Tony snifled. Once the tears started he felt himself regaining control, finally able to grasp at a feeling entering his hollow chest. That was good. It was easier this way. He swallowed against his wet throat a couple times, tears coming to a stop. He nodded. He could do this.

 

“I need your help.” 

 

If Tony could have gotten Pepper a better Christmas present, he wouldn’t know what that might be. The way her face lit up with pride and adoration, eyes shiny and smile genuine, Tony didn’t know what he did to deserve her, but it wasn’t enough.  _ No,  _ he corrected, hand squeezed in Peppers lightly, he did deserve her. He had to keep telling himself that, because for some reason, she stuck by him. He must be doing something right. 

 

\----

 

As it turned out, actually talking about his feelings made Tony feel a lot better. Self conscious, embarrassed, but like a weight was lifted. By the end of the conversation Pepper had set up several meetings with investors and board members and project managers, ready to delegate and reduce the overwhelming workload. She was texting Rhodey in between, she didn’t need to say much. 

 

_ Pepper Potts: Tony needs you to help him with Congress. He’s feeling overwhelmed.  _

 

_ Rhodey: Consider it done.  _

 

Suffice to say Tony was feeling very grateful when he returned to the flat, hand clutched to Peppers. He smiled when he saw Natasha and Coulson on the couch. Her feet were tucked under Coulson’s thigh for warmth. He was wearing a very ugly Christmas sweater with a cross eyed moose on it, leaned forward slightly to debate some metaphysical aspect of E.T. Natasha was both not listening  _ and  _ looking unimpressed, painting her fingernails. She smiled when she saw Tony, patting the seat next to her on the L of the couch. Pepper gave him a little kiss to the cheek, took his mug and pushed him towards the couch. Tony felt heat rise in his cheeks, thinking of how weak he must have looked out on the platform, facing this nigh enigma of a woman. She rubbed Tony’s back vigorously when he sat down, careful not to let her wet nails touch his sweater, then went back to her task at hand. Coulson kicked his foot in a friendly salute. 

 

“You might have some opinions on this aspect of space travel.” Said Coulson, gesturing at the TV. Tony did, in fact, and started a rousing debate with instant affability. 

 

Pepper gave Tony a new hot chocolate. She got Coulson and Natasha new beers, then sat on Coulson’s other side with a glass of white wine. The four settled in to the couch. Tony wondered, after Coulson fell asleep and Pepper rested her head gently on his shoulder, if this is what other people had. When he’d been looking into the windows at all the little families of New York settling in for the night, feeling empty when he watched them interact with loving familiarity, if this is what they felt like. He thought they might.

 

\----

 

Pepper kissed Tony good night, retiring earlier than the rest. She had a long day of meetings ahead, and Tony was grateful for her sacrifice, watching her adoringly as she waved them goodnight. Natasha was looking sleepier by the moment, and Tony knew it wouldn’t be long before she was out. Her back was still rested against the back corner of the couch, feet now pressed along Coulson’s thigh. The man was still fast asleep, feet up on the coffee table. 

 

Tony gave Nat’s shoulder a friendly squeeze. “Jarvis, nap mode.” He called, satisfied when the lights dimmed and the TVs volume lowered. He got up from the couch gently, passing Nat an extra blanket and pillow. Tony turned to leave, then stopped. He turned back to look at them, his two high level secret agents bunkered down on his couch. Tony walked lightly back, aware that Natasha was watching him through half lidded eyes. 

 

He came up to Coulson’s shiny shoes, smiling up at Natasha for a moment, then bent down to fiddle with them. Natasha snorted. He stepped back with satisfaction at his handiwork, tittering like a child. 

 

Coulson’s shoelaces were tied together. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a lot longer than I intended it to be, but it's the last before we get into Avengers stuff.  
> There will be fanart coming for this and the last chapter soon!  
> As always, thanks to my viewers, commenters and kudos, you guys rock!  
> Please leave feedback or critique if you have any, and happy holidays :-)


	5. The Battle for New York

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Battle for New York is in full swing, and Steve Rogers is busy coming around to the idea of Tony Stark.

_ “Son of a bitch.”  _

 

Everywhere around him, chaos was succumbing to the reigns of diligent SHIELD agents. Fingers swiped at fast moving information on dozens of screens. Tense voices called commands into the radios of every able bodied woman and man in the command headquarters, grasping at each new shred of information pouring in from correspondents on the ground. The blue lit screens provided an easy distraction for someone not focussed, for someone who was desperate enough to need a distraction and weak enough to allow it. 

 

Steve Rogers wasn’t looking at the screens. He was looking after the smartly clacking shoes of one Tony Stark. Steve was pulling on the jacket for his suit, relieved at the familiar tightness, leaning into the sense of normality it lended him. They were going to suit up and fight the good fight, and Steve still wasn’t sure it was a good idea for the dark haired man to come along. 

 

Stark thought Loki was at the tower, ready to launch his invasion. While he wasn’t inclined to trust the so-called genius, there was a certainty to Stark’s idea that caught Steve’s attention. 

 

He noticed Mrs. Romanov sauntering up in her black getup looking worse off for her recent encounter with the Hulk. Steve raised a brow at her, took in the strong set to her shoulders as she sidled up, turning to see Stark round a corner out of the control centre. 

 

“You two are… Acquainted?” 

 

She smirked at him with a sidelong glance. “You could say that.”

 

“Is he trustworthy?” 

 

Mrs. Romanov schooled a serious look, appraisal glinting in her eyes. Steve felt he was on the spot, he flustered under the scrutiny. He tried to straighten his back, stared into her green eyes with what he hoped was authority. Maybe it didn’t work, she broke into an impish smile. 

 

“Don’t worry. You’ll warm up to him in no time.” 

 

Steve didn’t think so. 

 

\----

 

Chitauri collided overhead, sending a spray of debris raining down on the empty streets of downtown Manhattan. Steve threw his shield with as much force as he could muster, it swung into a hover bike causing it to careen and crash into the nearest building to his left. Another assailant emerged from behind a truck with a blast. Steve threw himself bodily at it. He tucked and rolled on impact, standing as he slowed his roll. He grit his teeth. “Iron Man, what’s your status?”

 

_ “Bi-curious and looking.” _

 

_ “Holy fuck Stark get your shit together.”  _ Came Clint’s very helpful interjection.

 

_ “Way to wingman bird-boy.”  _ Joined Stark’s reply. 

 

Steve thought he heard Black Window snort into the comms. He didn’t have time to process the…  _ meaning _ … of the response. He shoulder rolled under a flying bus and took a heavy hit on the other side, Chitauri fist making contact with his ribs with grinding force. Steve slammed his shield down on its neck, severing its head partway. He wasn’t expecting the gore, but didn’t let it under his skin. He grit his teeth again, clamping his jaw before taking a breath. 

 

“Focus Stark! Time to get serious.”

 

Stark didn’t need to reply. He made a sudden landing next to Steve before blasting two more enemies. He grabbed Steve’s shoulder and spun them. Steve used the momentum to swing out his shield again, satisfied when it bounced off a car into a hover bike, knocking it’s rider off at a decent height. He didn’t wait to see if it would get back up, instead backed up against Iron Man long enough to take shelter from an energy blast. 

 

They were alone for a moment. Stark let his faceplate up, brown eyes slanted under thick lashes. “What, you wanna go out? How’s Thursday? You know, if the world isn’t destroyed. Speaking of, hey-” Stark turned a repulsor on a new alien, “-you look great in tights, I mean -Wow, Cap. Dad didn’t do you justice. You can  _ wear _ those.”

 

_ “Jesus tap-dancing Christ.”  _ Parried Clints voice again. Steve felt his face heat up, response dead on his tongue. 

 

Then Stark was gone, blasting off like a rocket to take out four, five, seven more Chitauri hover bikes with frightening efficacy. Steve would have to ask about Stark’s training. He was shaping up to be… Well... Steve didn’t want to admit it, but he was helpful. 

 

\---

 

Mrs. Romanov sat against an overturned car on a viaduct, panting into her comms. Steve landed gracefully next to her from a second story window, kicking left then swinging right, grabbed a Chitauri by the neck, tucked into a roll to come up with it’s arm, broke it. He grabbed it by the shoulders and threw it at its neighbour, running a spear through them like a shish kabob. He turned to Black Widow. 

 

“Alright, Agent. Give me the low-down.”

 

“It’s dislocated,” Romanov said with a jeer at her ankle, “You mind?” 

 

Steve grimaced, impressed by her resolve. He didn’t bother to ask if she could handle it. He grabbed her foot and ankle, amazed when she didn’t even flinch, and pulled it in a swift smooth motion back into place. She ripped a cloth from the nearest downed alien, wrapped it tightly with a splint around her ankle and foot and grabbed Steve’s shoulder. “Thanks.” 

 

“You good?”

 

“Never better.” Steve smiled. He was starting to get the idea that Natasha Romanov was not to be trifled with. Apparently Stark wasn’t up to speed on this fact. 

 

_ “Widow. You need evac? I can come - I, huh, hey, look at that… shit- I can be there in a minute. Well, twenty six seconds- I can get you. I know you don’t need it but like, just say the word. I’ll be there.” _

 

Steve thought this interjection would -No,  _ should _ , irk the powerful woman coming to a stand with support on Steve’s shoulder. He turned blue eyes up at her, her copper hair glinted in the sun. She pulled a gun from her thigh holster, popped out the magazine with effortless speed and replaced it, shot three emerging Chitauri. He watched her take in the worried tirade coming through her comms, waited to see her brows knit, but they didn’t. She smiled mirthfully, letting off a final shot as Stark came to a close. “We should eat later.” She said.

 

_ “We’ll get the whole gang together.”  _

 

Steve stood up to take her in. She made no indication she was in pain, didn’t seem remotely slowed down in her battered frame. She was a petite woman with a toned form, shoulders set back and legs spread in steady stance, one exacting hand reached up to pull another magazine from her belt, hair swung back in glamorous enjoyment of the sun and light breeze surrounding. She turned to shoot sharply as two more hover bikes passed over head. Steve was perplexed. How a woman so formidable could be… interested, in Tony Stark, was beyond Steve. He thought to two hours previous in the relatively calm and chilly bay of the Helicarrier. What was it she said? Steve racked his brain, let it clear for a moment to take a running jump at another enemy. 

 

Stark blasted into the corridor overhead with nimble speed, leviathan groaning in an angered frenzy chasing the little red target. Thor came down on its head, lightning crashing with a catastrophic boom. The creature reared and dove into a building, emerging from the other side to plummet into the street where it was buried under the rubble, seemingly unable to get enough lift for ascension. Thor flew onto its back, threw his hammer at a dozen enemies, waited for it to return. Stark landed in a flash. Thor spun to him, lightning cracked from his long fingers into Stark’s suit where it blasted from the arc reactor into the Leviathan’s exposed flank, which exploded. It was still alive but wasn’t coming back up. 

 

By the time the smoke cleared Stark was already gone, rounding a building to fight the good fight. Steve watched from the ground. He remembered what Mrs. Romanov had said. 

 

_ “Don’t worry. You’ll warm up to him in no time.” _

 

_ \--- _

 

The first indication that Mrs. Romanov might be right (Steve would eventually learn to assume that Mrs. Romanov was  **_always_ ** right) came in the form of a surprise. Romanov was on the roof looking for a way to close the portal with Dr. Selvig. The roars of Hulk and Chitauri soldiers blared and echoed in the crumbled corridors of New York. Iron Man’s repulsors fired with resounding bursts as he led assailants through the aisles of buildings. Lighting crackled and rumbled under heavy clouds that swirled over blocks at a time, obscuring the light for moments before dispersing with unnatural speed to reveal the blazing sun again. Somewhere, Hawkeye’s powerful hands were swinging arrows into the chests of their enemies, not stopping to breath in between. 

 

Steve was trying to keep track of them all while also doling out damage to his attackers. He almost forgot to feel panicked with each emerging foe. His body settled into a familiar pattern. Turn, swing, duck, shield, turn, swing, jump, shield, turn, kick, shield, roll- 

 

His attention was pulled out of it’s zen by something attached to his shield. He didn’t have time to look at it, having to swing the disc out again at three more attackers, let it return to his arm with practiced ease. No more Chitauri on this block. Steve let himself breath, took account. His head was pounding, his mouth was dry. His ribs on the left hurt and he pulled a muscle in his right thigh. There was blood in his eyes- whose, who could say, and he worried for a moment his teeth might grind down to nubs before this battle could kill him. No fatal damage yet, Steve directed his attention to his shield, flummoxed at what he saw. 

 

- _ Don’t get too hungry. TS.  _

 

Was sprawled on a torn piece of white paper taped heavily to a white ring on the inside rim of the disc. There was a package next to it, also taped densely to the metal. Steve furrowed his blond brow at it. That was a lot of white tape. How did he  _ miss  _ this. It was no match for his strength, the package peeled out with ease. Steve turned it out in his large hand.

 

**_Zany Bobs Choco-Nut Cluster_** was written on the little yellow package, black letters in block on the top half. 

 

Steve checked his perimeter. Nothing. His comms were filled with unpanicked chatter. Hawkey and Stark were verbally sparring. Steve was going to reprimand them, get them back on track -looked at the little yellow package in his hand, said nothing. He tore the corrugated end with his teeth and let the chocolate nut cluster slide into his hand. 

 

Steve scarfed it down in two bites, never taking his eyes off the street. The chaos didn’t stop him from enjoying the salty sweet slide on his tongue.  _ God,  _ it had been almost seventy years since his last chocolate. He immediately felt a little bit better.

 

\---

 

Steve’s stomach knotted. He watched the portal with bated breath, blue eyes not leaving it for a second. The glimpse of dark space was overtaken with hellish fire. Bright yellow plasma emerged in the clouds of flame. The portal shuttered and drew to a close. He waited.

 

Iron Man came tumbling out of the portal. He’d made it, but he was falling too fast. He wasn’t conscious.

 

Steve couldn’t do anything to stop it or to stop the feeling of helplessness crawling up his spine. He knew the feeling well. Knew it when he watched Bucky walk off that night to join the war effort. Knew if when he stood over Erskine’s dead body. Knew it when he watched Bucky fall to his death. Knew it when he couldn’t fix the console, Peggy, he would have to put it in the water-

 

He forgot he wasn’t on his own this time. Thor swung his hammer, ready to fly up and catch Stark, but Hulk was faster. He crashed into a car and Steve was already running, glad for Thor’s strength when he tore the faceplate off. Steve’s heart constricted at Tony Starks still face, unnatural where there was normally so much energy -But then he was breathing, alive, eyes on Steve and Thor and Hulk and he was talking about something a mile a minute, not stopping to breathe.

 

“Have you ever tried Shawarma? There’s a shawarma joint about two blocks from here. I don’t know what it is, but I want to try it.” 

 

He let out the breath caught in his chest, felt himself get pulled back from the edge of something awful. Steve let himself smile for the first time around Stark.

 

“We’re not done yet.” Came Thor’s steady reply, but relief was becoming apparent in his posture. The set of his shoulders loosened just a bit. He made no move to leave. He screwed up his face for a second, reaching a nimble hand behind his epaulet. He pulled out a little package. It was a note, taped to a yellow parcel. A loose safety pin came with it. Thor getsured it at Stark. “I thank you, Man of Iron.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. No problem. Didn’t want you guys getting hangry. Hey- Big green, yeah, you wanna -Yeah, thanks. Outstanding efforts, I don’t know what Banner doesn’t see in you.” He rambled, allowing Hulk to grab him and set him on his feet. Stark stumbled, his suit wasn’t articulated yet. He just leaned on Hulk. Steve couldn’t suppress his guilt, thinking not hours ago that Stark was a coward, but now took in the man who leaned against the Hulk as if he was a wall and not an immense source of bodily harm. Stark smiled at Thor who took a bite of his cluster, turning to Steve with mouth full.

 

“Did you receive a sweetie, Captain?”

 

“I did. Thanks.” Steve said to Tony, rubbing the back of his neck. He walked to Stark’s side, took an arm over his shoulder and helped him sit on a slab of concrete. 

 

“I’m gonna need another favour Capsicle” Stark said with a grin, arms still stuck out at his sides, “Can you reach into my pocket?”

 

“You have pockets?”

 

Stark laughed with breathless levity. “God. Yeah. I had to put them in after - Well, I needed them. It’s just tucked there, yeah, you’ve got it. Can you- Great.”

 

_ “Someone confirm that Captain America is reaching into Stark’s pocket to get a mystery item?”  _ Came Clint’s horrified voice. Steve paused, frowned deeply. He tried to ignore the way Stark laughed. 

 

Steve was bewildered to pull out another yellow packet, this one nearly flattened by it’s awkward container. “It’s for him.” Stark grinned, sliding his brown eyes to Hulk. “The pockets’ aren’t perfect yet. I need to -I need to adjust the rigidity of the lining. It’s an alloy. It’s got bend. Too much bend-” He rambled. 

 

Steve huffed out a laugh, for the second time tearing open a little plastic package and sliding out a patty of nuts and chocolate. He offered it to Hulk who took it with deliberate care. Steve thought it looked ridiculous pinched between Hulks huge fingers, not holding back his laughter when Hulk attempted to take a tiny bite with his massive teeth. He grunted in approval. 

 

“Hulk like it.”

 

“I live to please.” Stark joshed, jostling around in his suit. 

 

It took a few minutes to work out the mechanics. Steve eventually grasped the idea of the relief lever, pulling it with a quick jerk to unlock the frozen components of the Iron suit. In their moment of peace Steve was able to take it in, all the intricately folding plates, the gleaming paint job now scratched and buffed into blustered dullness, the shiny screw heads fit perfectly into their slots. He could admit now, having come to some sort of truce with Stark, that it was an incredible piece of machinery. It was a work of art. 

 

_ “You ladies having tea down there?”  _ Came Mrs. Romanov’s sultry voice over the comms. It wasn’t a question.

 

\---

 

Thor watched Loki very carefully. 

 

His brother was achingly sidling up the stairs, leaning back with a heavy groan. He was hurt, certainly, but pain wasn’t the only thing written on his features. His eyes were clearing, the violent intensity was draining from them to be replaced with a look of good humoured resignation. 

 

“If it’s all the same to you, I’ll take that drink now.”

 

Thor wasted no time sweeping Loki into his arms. The raven haired man shivered in his grasp. His body was cold, his armour chilled despite the hot weather. Loki’s breath hitched, his chin came to rest on Thor’s shoulder. His lean hands came to embrace the blonde’s broad back, lithe fingers tangled in the red fabric. Thor cupped his hand around the back of his brothers head, feeling his cold greasy hair, his cold neck, and kissed the side of his head. He remembered vividly how Loki used to smell, the fresh spices and warm full scent of magic brushed off of him with every graceful move, now replaced with this cold. He smelled like he’d been in freezing rain, damp and miserable. Thor held him a moment more, wishing the embrace would never end, wishing Loki would never remove his face from the crook of Thor’s neck, wishing he would always feel the reassuring beat of Loki’s heart against his own rib cage, slow and shallow, but it didn’t. 

 

Thor moved Loki’s hand to the stoop and very slowly and carefully placed Mjolnir on top. His heart broke as he did, and he moved slowly enough that Loki could pull away, could  _ say  _ or  _ do  _ anything to stop him, but his brother didn’t realize it was happening at first.

 

The look on his face would haunt Thor. It  _ did  _ haunt him, resonating the same betrayal from a year previous, the anguish that pooled in his eyes and the set of his mouth when he’d let go of the staff. Thor cupped Loki’s face, felt the heat rise in his own neck.

 

“I love you, and nothing will change that. You are my brother. You understand me, Loki? Do you hear me? I will never stop loving you.” 

 

Thor waited for a response. None was forthcoming, a blank look the only thing to register on his brothers face. He was shutting down, closing off to any input. Thor was grateful to be nudged a moment later, finding Stark behind him with an offered glass of liquor. Thor pulled back to allow Loki room to take the glass, relieved at least that his little brother did. He watched his brothers eyes lock with Stark’s, a spark of recognition passing between them, and his eyes cleared again after he drank the liquor. In that moment Thor felt immeasurably grateful for the Iron Man, nodding in relief. 

 

Stark himself was taking in Loki with a haunted expression, brown eyes wide and calculating. He left and returned a moment later with his bottle, poured Loki another portion without question, then poured more for himself. Thor caught the Captain looking skeptical at this exchange, glad when the soldier said nothing. 

 

His luck had not run out, as it seemed, and Thor’s heart was fit to burst when Loki’s now emptied hand found his on the stoop and squeezed it gently. He looked back at Loki, waiting only a second before scooping the thinner man back into his arms, ignoring Loki’s squak of protests. 

 

\---

 

The top floor of the tower had seen better days. Broken glass covered every surface, concrete was spattered around the crater where Hulk had smashed Loki. Furniture was pushed to the far reaches of the room and overturned. Several bottles of alcohol littered the floor. 

 

Tony Stark was nothing if not an impeccable host. Natasha watched with languid amusement as Stark emerged from his suit. He separated the chest plate to set it on an overturned table, stepped out of the legs as they unfolded in the front. He approached the bar, grabbed one intact glass, then another. He poured himself a scotch. Turned a skewed eyebrow to the damaged demigod sat on his stairs. Loki nodded with surrender, yes, the scotch would do. 

 

Perhaps if he knew how much a single glass of Tony’s scotch cost he would be more excited about it, Natasha thought for a moment, looking at Loki’s tarnished armour. Royalty. Maybe not then. 

 

While Stark puttered around the bar, Natasha took in the demi god. He’d made no move to escape while being left alone in the tower. He didn’t try to fight them when they came. He didn’t pull away from Thor or object at being grounded by the hammer. He was entirely committed to his current path. Natasha considered the vanquished Chitauri littered in the surrounding streets. She took in the relief in his eyes. It was obvious this was the safer of his options, he likely didn’t have a warm welcome waiting back at home base. Most defeated generals didn’t. Natasha wondered if this was part of Loki’s plan. The Chitauri couldn’t get to him here, and the Tesseract was trapped on their side. Maybe they’d expect him to fight to reopen the portal, biding his time on Earth. Thor cupped either side of his head, whispering to him. Loki said nothing. He was searching for some truth. Natasha didn’t think he’d reopen the portal even if he could. 

 

Tony sauntered up with their scotches and bumped Thor on the shoulder. The blond turned in consternation, not approving of the drink but not objecting while in Stark’s home, and allowed Loki to take the drink. He shot it back without a grimace. Tony raised his brows in concern. 

 

“Who knew you’d be the life of the party?” He said to Loki with a concerned frown. 

 

“Don’t fraternize, Stark. This fucker doesn’t deserve it.” Clint said. He was sat on the back of a couch pushed haphazardly out of the way. He looked at Natasha. She shook her head. 

 

Natasha walked lightly up to Clint, sat next to him on the back of the couch, brushed her knuckles up against his ribs and nodded her head towards Tony. He was offering Loki another drink. Clint scowled. 

 

“You’re gonna humour him? That’s not like you, Romanov.”

 

“It’s not a bad idea to let Loki find a friend here. We’re going to need him talking if we want to fill in the blanks. Unless you want to do the honours?” 

 

Clint didn’t say anything for a few minutes, instead taking in the state of the floor. His blue eyes were pensive, considering every detail of their environment. There was a pink blanket in an overturned basket next to the couch. Several used drink cups by the bar sink. A stack of magazines on the other end of the couch. A sweatshirt tossed on the back of a chair. Slippers snuck under an armchair. Notes stuck to the fridge along with several pictures of houseplants. Clint was starting to take in the homeyness of the place. At first it seemed minimal, impersonal, cold. But little details were betraying their surroundings. He perked up with a sideways glance at Natasha, narrowing his eyes at her. 

 

“You’ve been living here? 

 

She didn’t have the decency to look ashamed. “He’s got a compulsion.”

 

“I think you mean a drinking problem.”

 

“He’s working on it.” She replied without mirth, then fixed a conspiratory smile. “Stark’s a mother hen. He’s prone to being taken advantage of by beautiful career women.” She joked with a nudge. 

 

“That explains the chocolate taped to the inside of my quiver. There was a note, too.” Clint said with twisted expression. “It said  _ ‘Good luck on your big day.’ _ ” He shook his head and paused, turning back to his redheaded friend. “Is he looking out for you?”

 

“Clinton Francis Barton, don’t tell me you’re jealous of Tony Stark -Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist?” 

 

“Pfft. Yeah, no. Of you. Freeloader.” 

 

She shook her head and replied, “I’d give it a week. He’s probably already drawing up the plans for more guest rooms.” Clint looked over at Stark. He’d pulled up his tablet and was flicking through screen after screen with practiced eased. Clint would be  _ very  _ surprised if that were the case. He didn’t say as much to Nat. 

 

\---

 

Steve Rogers was a man not quick to forgive. It was one major defect of his personality that he couldn’t shake, and to be truthful, he never really thought it was an issue. People sought him out for his decisive and steadfast action, unwavering in the face of doubt. Steve had never had reason to change, and he wasn’t about to start with Loki. He’d prefer if Loki were already handcuffed. Steve supposed the hammer would do for now, and he couldn’t deny his relief to see Loki immobilized.

 

Up close and able to take in the sudden shifting expressions on his enemies face, Steve was reminded of a prism. So many emotions seemed to pass through Loki’s green eyes with each second it actually put Steve on edge, unsure moment by moment if the smaller demigod was about to cry or fight or turn off completely. 

 

A secret gratefulness spread from his bosom when Stark set into action. While he didn’t approve of offering their capture alcohol, least of all when it was apparent Stark himself struggled with the substance, Steve was glad to see it brought some level of consciousness back to the green eyes. Thor was glad too, crushing Loki again in a long embrace. 

 

Loki said very little during their exchange. There was a stiff set to his jaw throughout that promised stern reprimand if Loki decided to enlighten them, but the words were not forthcoming. He resigned himself to Thor’s manhandling, eventually letting his body melt in exhaustion. He was not a threat at that moment, but Steve wasn’t sure it would stay that way. 

 

Black Widow and Hawkeye were perched on a couch out of the way of the action. They were surveying and discussing the interactions between Stark and Loki, and Steve was glad there were other opinions forming on the matter. Steve was fully aware it would behoove them to have a confidant for Loki in their ranks, but he didn’t want it to be Stark. He wasn’t sure that the man was stable enough himself to handle Loki’s level of crazy. Thor already had a familial relationship with the magician. 

 

But then again -he thought, taking in Loki’s thousand year stare from where his head was coddled in the crook of Thor’s neck, indignation blooming throughout his features as Thor cooed at him -perhaps Thor wasn’t the in they needed. 

 

He was pulled from his reveries by Stark, now playing around on a holographic screen, flicking through blueprints moment by moment with acuity. “What?” He asked, giving his head a shake. 

 

“Shawarma. I’m starving. You’re  _ definitely  _ starving, I’ve read all about your metabolism. And these two-” he said with a huff, gesturing at the still demigods on his stairs, “let’s assume they’re worse _.  _ Bruce will come round any time, I mean, I think anyways, Hulk is in a guest bedroom, what’s he gonna do in there? Banner will be back out.” Stark was getting off track. He paused, reeled himself back in and finally looked Steve in the eyes. He had the same certainty in his voice and expression that had caught Steve off guard on the Helicarrier, a strength beneath the veneer. “We need to eat. Kid Wonder isn’t going anywhere, look at him. It’s the family reunion of his dreams.” He said with another nod at Loki, his eyes scrutinising. “I think we could make an argument for lunch.” Stark didn’t wait for Steve’s approval, calling out across the room instead. “We’re getting food. Everyone suit down, we’re rolling out in five. Thor, secure your homeboy. Someone get Banner some pants.” He said with a final laugh as Bruce emerged from a hall, holding his ruined baggy pants against his pelvis with one hand, toned body curled from the exhaustion. “What am I saying, me casa, su casa. I’ll get the pants. Come on big green.”

 

Steve watched him lead Banner down a hall to get dressed, then turned to Thor. He was helping Loki up with a firm grip, not letting him stray. Steve strained to hear what he was saying, watching Thor’s sheepish expression. 

 

“It would make things easier.”

 

“You’re not being serious.” A look of deep annoyance passed over Loki’s face, his voice dripped with venom. Natasha and Clint took notice, sitting up a bit straighter, one hand each reaching for their guns. 

 

A look of monumental exasperation passed over Loki’s face. His eye roll was impressive. He waved his hand a couple times and darted it forward into… thin air, then pulled out a rigid pair of cuffs. Steve gawked. Stark and Banner emerged from the hall to watch the interaction, Banner pulling a shirt over shoulders.

 

“I thank you, brother.” Thor said with an embarrassed chuckle, opening the rings to latch one to Loki and one to himself. 

 

“No need to thank me, Thor. My embarrassment of you is gift enough.” 

 

“Aye!” Thor grinned, undeterred, “That is the spirit! Come, together we feast!”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the reads, faves and follows! 
> 
> The Christmas back log is finally over! Chapters 6 and 7 to follow before end of week. 
> 
> As always, please comment any feedback or stylistic advice, anything is appreciated!


	6. Avengers Assemble (At The Shawarma Join)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor needs a hug, but before that, the gang needs commemorative T shirts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a REWRITE.
> 
> Whoopsie doodle. I posted this chapter before I was happy with it and couldn't let it be, my bad people. I'm still learning. At least this new version is almost 10,000 words, and it's not going anywhere.
> 
> Anyways, thanks for the faves, follows and of course feedback, it's always much appreciated!

Within hours of the invasion, the Rebuild of New York was already underway. Good samaritans flooded the streets, passing out bottled water and snacks to those injured in the action. First responders worked expeditiously to pull victims from the wreckage. Sweat gleaned from their crowns and forearms and were coated in dust and grime the more they worked, the blazing summer sun beating a hasty return. The sky showed no signs of interference. If you looked, you may believe the portal had never marred the bright blue ceiling at all. You could go so far as to think it no more than a mirage brought on by the humid weather.

 

Not all of New York’s residents were keen to look up at that sky, to ogle what had been only hours ago a warning of worse things to come. One brown eyed man was keeping his gaze resolutely down, maintaining eye contact with anyone looking his way, distracting himself with the in pouring phone calls from concerned business partners and watching the ground for any obstacles in his path.

 

The walk to the Shawarma joint was over with too soon, the Avengers now ensconced in the small café with their respective lunches. They owner took one look at their dirty clothes and scratches and bruises and waved them over to a table. His wife swept up concrete debris in the back, singing a jaunty tune as she went, unaffected in any meaningful way by the suffering and jubilation of the people in the streets.

 

The café offered a shady retreat from the chaos. They were recognized multiple times by people crowding up to the windows, but being too exhausted to even glance outside, the onlookers would grow tired of waiting and left. Without knowing his involvement in the events, Loki’s presence brought little attention from the crowds. He kept his cuffed hands under the table. He sat silently, too tired to fight off the intermittent cooing Thor directed his way, large hand running down his arm or resting on the nape of his neck.

 

Tony sat across the table, wrap held in one hand and elbow on his leg to support him. He was too tired to sit up straight. He occupied himself with the taste of the food, the grounding effect of salt and grease on his tongue bringing him back from an emotional precipice he felt himself teetering on the edge of. Every now and again he’d summon the energy to look at Loki, feeling exasperation as Thor attempted to feed the slighter man. The younger prince wasn’t having it, grimacing at the greasy wrap as if it were roadkill and faint “I’d rather not’s” falling on deaf ears.

 

“You must be hungry.” Thor said imploringly, pushing his food at Loki. The blonde, along with Bruce, were the only ones with any energy.

 

“I’m… not.” Loki said unconvincingly. Tony would have snorted if he thought he could expend the calories. Of course Loki was hungry. Just based on Thor’s incredible metabolism, the man must have been starving, but seemed completely and genuinely uninterested in the meaty wrap.

 

Tony knew he’d have to get the guy something. It’s not so much that he _wanted_ to, but there were rules about this stuff, he thought. Wasn't that what the Geneva Convention was for? Would those rules even apply to Loki? Tony wasn’t sure, but the idea that he might get pulled back to congress for starving a prisoner of war was worse to him than the idea of getting up. Although, he thought, feeling his knees creak as he tried, it couldn’t be _much_ worse.

 

He waddled over to the counter, clearing his throat as the grey eyed man behind the divider turned to him. He peaked at the name-tag. It said ‘ _Omer’_ in a serif font. “We’re going to need some water…” He turned back to Loki, saw the young prince was watching him with a little wrinkle between his brows. “You got a sweet tooth? Vegetarian? _Vegan?_ There’s gotta be something you want.”

 

Loki was very unsure on this course of conversation. He looked like a young man, sitting next to Thor, face scrutinizing and nervous all at once. He looked to his older brother, who was leaning in with interest, and at the greasy wrap in his hand. He took a breath and followed with a sigh.

 

“Something mild?”

 

Tony tried to keep his face impassive, but he was surprised. Based on the little he knew about Thor in their time together he’d have thought the green eyed man would share his bold tastes. Thankfully the owner was already moving about the kitchen, unaware or uncaring of Loki’s situation. He produced a glass of water and called to Loki with a gruff voice. “You want it light?”

 

Loki nodded. Tony detected something _hopeful_ in his eyes, like the prospect of edible food was worthy of notice at his hour of undoing. It made Tony frown in consideration. He tried to erase the discontentment when the man came back, nodding in thanks. He handed Tony a plate full of cucumbers, two strips of pita on the side. “Baby food.” He said by way of explanation. The brunette took the items back to Loki, who made no move to accept them. He stared at the food with a hollow expression, not allowing himself to fidget at all until Thor nudged him.

 

When Loki at last took a cucumber in his lean fingers, Tony felt himself relax minutely. The demigod gave a light sniff, a little bite, and was overtaken with a look of anguish and relief all at once. Tony swallowed, unsure why the sight bothered him, and turned to Natasha instead.

 

The redhead had adopted a legs-wide-open stance that was both very unladylike and very uncaring, soda cup in her hand. She looked completely done in, hair draped down over her face. There was a food grade ice-pack shoved into her sock, the pair of which she’d stolen from Tony earlier that afternoon. On her other side sat Clint, his own foot propped up on her thigh, bow slung over the back of his chair.

 

“You still wanna go out tonight? She said when she noticed Tony’s gaze. He scowled at her.

 

“You’re joking.”

 

“ _I’m an old man, you know_.” She said in a low impression of Tony. He looked affronted. Clint was eyeing them with suspicion.

 

“Never more than now.”

 

“Okay, I’ll let the masses know that we’re staying in. Your fans will be disappointed.” She produced her phone, tapping away on it gracelessly before snapping a pic of Tony leaned back in his chair, wrap rested on his arc reactor, sipping his soda from a straw with a nonplussed look on his face. There was tzatziki on the corner of his mouth, cuts on his forehead and dirt on his face.

 

Tony quirked his head in consideration. “Ouch. Uncalled for-” He was cut off by a ding from his phone, glowering more deeply.

 

“I’m not reading that.”

 

“You’re loss, old man.” Natasha smiled, just a little. Tony felt a knot in his spine unwind, put at ease with her light teasing. He pulled out his phone with a mirthful snort. Clint grinned, reading over Natasha’s shoulder.

 

 **4:41pm** @BlackWidow

_Rumour confirmed: Tony Stark too old. @IAmIronMan_

_#IronSeniorCitizen #Jerk #Virgin_

 

“Hashtag: _Virgin_?” He sputtered, not able to hold back his laughter. “You’ve been talking to my girlfriend too much.”

 

“Ooh. Sad, Stark, even for you.” Clint said with a shake of his head.

 

“At least I know _she’s_ not a virgin.” Natasha said next, elbowing Clint in the ribs. He laughed around a bite of his shawarma. Thor took a moment away from watching Loki to cast a concerned gaze at Tony, reaching across the table to clap him on the shoulder.

 

“My condolences, Man of Iron. It seems the Black Widow has bested you for your mate. I pray your gross affliction will be remedied soon. Perhaps the glory of this battle will be enough to woo a dame into your chambers.”

 

Tony was affronted. Affronted, dammit. He pulled his head back in disbelief, blinking rapidly, then turned to Natasha. “Look what you’ve done.”

 

Loki put his cucumber down and placed a comforting hand on Thor’s shoulder, causing the blonde to turn bright eyes on him. The young prince shook his head consolingly. Thor frowned in confusion.

 

“Worry not, brother. You may have new company in your band of vestal virgins.”

 

There was a silence. Thor was offended. Clint and Tony jeered, Natasha’s mouth formed a scandalized ‘O’. Steve was blushing beneath his hands, Tony noticed, glancing at the soldier to see if reprimand would come.

 

“I don’t think-” Steve started, but was cut off.

 

“ _Me?_ A _virgin?_ How dare you, brother. It is not so long we’ve been apart, you shan’t have forgotten my lengthy escapades as a glorified lover. The _God_ of Fertility. Master of pleasures both _oral_ and otherwise.”

 

Tony whipped his head back to Steve. His face was beet red. He looked on in horror as Thor continued his tirade. Loki seemed very satisfied with himself, munching delicately on his plain pita bread as Thor exalted his sexual prowess. Clint was grinning ear to ear.

 

“The lady doth protest too much.” Tony said, catching on to the game. It worked, and Thor rallied, details emerging with each passing moment. Loki winked at him.

 

“-A hundred women, at once! And upon their climax, I, Thor, would mount them again, for I determine to satisfy a fair woman thrice, the third time upon which I may use my-”

 

And, okay. Even Tony was blushing. This rant was _specific._ Loki, on the other hand, was completely unfazed by the implicit nature of his brothers words, smile growing on his face with every word.

 

The other Avengers were watching with interest, the first glimmer into the brother’s relationship making itself known in the way Thor swept away in his boasting, and in the impish look on Loki’s face as he goaded his brother on. Tony took in the way Loki’s eyes seemed to sparkle with amused adoration, sitting in close quarters with the huge angry man, and was in no way afraid, totally at ease by his brothers side.

 

“But how could you have satisfied these women-” Loki interrupted at one point, Thor already reaching up a finger to shush his brother, “When Sif herself told me-”

 

“No!” Thor clasped his hand over Loki’s mouth, bringing his face in close. “I shall gag you post haste.” He said in threat, pulling his hand away with a menacing glare. Loki cocked a brow.

 

 _“You wouldn’t be the first man to put a gag in my mouth.”_ Loki said under his breath.

 

What followed was a gang effort of ribbing, Thor banging his fists on the table in a bullheaded attempt to control the narrative, Loki tittering under his breath, and Clint throwing pickles. Steve said nothing, but he was glad, in a way, that they were getting along. It would be easier to keep Loki prisoner if he felt comfortable, and the key to his comfort came in the form of one Tony Stark.

 

\---

 

“Are you _sure_ you’re okay? I’d really like to be with you right now, Tony. I almost…”

 

“I know.”

 

“We came too close this time…”

 

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s too much.”

 

“I know.”

 

Tony pinched his nose, breath caught in his throat, waiting for the words he knew were long overdue to come through the line. He was in an alley, the Avengers surveying the road outside, Loki clutched to Thor’s side.

 

He’d gotten the call on their walk, and feeling a panic attack tearing it’s way through his chest at the very sight of Pepper’s caller idea, he peeled into the little gangway. He leaned against a filthy wall, dim light casting unpleasant shadows on him, darkening under his eyes. In this light he looked every bit as defeated as he felt. He was barely hanging on, and Pepper’s voice finally coming through his phone where hours ago he couldn’t reach her, he could feel himself start to crumble. Self destructive thoughts circled in his mind. His heart actually _ached_ , the tone in her voice told him everything he needed to know. He’d hurt her. He’d _really_ hurt her. And he deserved to lose her, too. He deserved to be alone.

 

“ _I love you, Tony.”_

 

He sank down the wall, sob hitched in his voice, smile cracking on his face. “I love you. I love you too. I’m sorry. I love you.”

 

Pepper’s airy laugh came through the tinny speaker, he could hear the tears in her throat. “I really, really fucking love you. But please don’t come home. Not like this. Just - Just give me a week. A week to sort it all out.”

 

She was silent for a moment, breathing quietly. “Alright. But I want you to call me every day. Promise?”

 

Tony laughed, the tightness in his chest loosening enough for him to pull in a full lung of air.

 

“I promise.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Pepper hung up, and Tony remained against the cold grimy wall, shirt dirty and leg stretched out in front. He pinched the bridge of his nose tighter, as if it could stop the panic, as if it could stop the tears, and pressed the darkened phone to his forehead.

 

He was startled out of a sorry state by Steve’s appearance at the end of the alley. Concern immediately overshadowed him. His shield was still on his back, boots still on his feet, but the uncertainty in his posture made him look anything but a soldier. He approached Tony quietly, footsteps soft on the wet alley floor. He stood in front of Tony, extending a strong hand to the shorter man.

 

“Need a boost?”

 

Tony laughed mirthlessly, but nodded, turning his wet brown eyes up at Steve. He wiped off his cheek and took the Captain’s hand, allowing the man to pull him close. He was in Steve’s space, standing chest to chest, and allowed Steve to squeeze his shoulder in a sure grip, his face only inches away, consternation creasing his brow, breathing the same air. Tony wondered what patriotic speech Steve had prepared that required this closeness.

 

“It’s been a long day. I think I could use a beer.” He said instead, fixing Tony with a guilty smile. The brunette laughed in approval.

 

“That can be arranged.”

 

Steve nodded, taking a step back, and turned to exit the alley. Tony watched the long rigid line of Steve’s back, took in the numerous scratches and scuffs and cuts on his outfit, injuries underneath surely sore but already healing, and the way Steve straightened his neck as he emerged into the sunlight, projecting strength. Tony wondered if he really felt it or if he was just putting on a brave face.

 

“Thanks.” He called out, and tucked his phone in his pocket.

 

\---

 

Natasha noticed Tony’s tear scrubbed face immediately. As the Avengers took up the walk back to the tower, she fell in line with Tony. He didn’t say anything to her, his face looked conflicted and tired and nauseous, the cuts on face and hands already sealed with dried blood. He stared ahead, and where the Avengers gazed up at the sky over the tower, took in the damage to the buildings and the enemy’s lying in the streets, Tony stared straight ahead, brown eyes not wavering.

 

Natasha snuck her hand into his, her skinny fingers squeezed his calloused ones, her green eyes couldn’t hide her distress. Tony pulled her in. He held her in his arms, her hands came to rest on his back, ear pressed to the drum of his chest, desperately clinging to his heartbeat.

 

The emptying streets of New York lay in waste beyond them. Bird calls the only sound echoing in the isles. The laughs of the Avengers dimmed in the corridor, fading out of earshot, leaving them behind.

 

\---

 

The team hadn’t noticed their display of familiarity in the streets, and for that Tony was thankful. Not for himself of course, but the idea of other people seeing Natasha’s vulnerability made Tony squeamish. He wanted so earnestly to protect her, for her moment of trust not to be wasted on him, a person so undeserving of her company. When they returned to the tower he shuttled her into his bathroom. He produced a fluffy bath towel and took her suit out, padding to his seldom used laundry room.

 

Tony scrunched his nose up at the leather catsuit, unsure how to wash such a garment.

 

“Jarvis?” He asked nervously, hoping his AI could shed some light on his predicament. Apparently even Jarvis didn’t want to weigh in.

 

_“I’d advise you not to wash Mrs. Romanov’s outfit, Sir.”_

 

“Not helpful.” Tony said back, checking the inseam for a washing tag and huffing out of annoyance when there was none. Leave it to SHIELD agents to take poor care of their clothes.

 

_“If you insist, Sir. Wash the garment in cold water on a light cycle, then tumble dry low.”_

 

“Was that so hard?” Tony jeered, trying to force a smile. He did as Jarvis said, tossing in a soap pod and a couple clean towels for safety, and turned on the washing machine. He allowed himself to lean on the gyrating machine for a moment, letting the exhaustion from the day wash over him in waves. Tony knew he could sleep for a week if he’d just allow himself to lay down. But no, there was too much to do. The rebuild was already under way, and he needed to help.

 

“Jarvis, let’s get a wireframe from the immediate vicinity up on the hologram pad. Include the water, gas, hydro, the works.”

 

_“Shall I scan local data for information on structural damage, Sir?”_

 

God, Jarvis. Another thing to be thankful for. He let the gratitude fill his mind for a moment, leaning back on the machine, and scrubbed a hand over his face with a wry smile. “Yeah, thanks J.”

 

\---

 

Tony didn’t shower, but he did change. His clean joggers and dry socks were worlds removed from the filthy garments that were practically glued to him before. He sat shirtless on the edge of his bed, body tempted to give out from the softness of the surface. He combed his hair, then  worked moisturizer into his face, his feet and in between his toes. He was listening to the sounds of rushing water in the shower when Clint Barton appeared in his doorway.

 

The archer’s face was considering, hands crossed on his chest where it leaned against the doorway, feet crossed stylishly. He caught the moisturizer when Tony tossed it to him, watching the genius move on to pick up a clean shirt off his bed. His blue eyes were glued to the arc reactor. He observed how the skin stuck to the edges of the core, how it emerged rigid and unforgiving from his chest cavity. It looked like it should hurt. It must hurt. It made Clint feel a bit sorry for the guy, but Stark wasn’t his concern.

 

Natasha Romanov had allowed herself to be led into Tony Stark’s bedroom, by the hand, and was taking a shower. Previous to that day Clint would have thought it impossible.

 

He watched Stark pull the tight shirt over his muscular chest. The arc reactor glowed underneath.

 

“She alright?” He asked with a nod to the door. Stark looked up in surprise, brown eyes momentarily cast to the door. Lines of worry were imbued with his features. He looked like he would collapse, but Clint was surprised to see the man stand up with a sigh, pulling a hoody on over his shirt.

 

“Yeah. She just needs an hour to decompress.” Clint nodded in satisfaction, but caught a shadow come over the other man’s face. “I really fucked up. With her. And Pepper. It’s my fault.”

 

If Clint were better at expressing emotions, _and he wasn’t,_ let’s be clear, he’d have said something comforting. He knew Stark was a narcissist, but not this kind of narcissist. Not the guilty kind. Clint’s mind was pulled back to the battle, to listening to the deep humorous voice of the man before him on the comms as he laid his life down, prepared to never come back. He’d watched Stark enter the portal, his speed not faltering for an instance. It even made Clint feel proud, looking at the man now, and he thought he knew how Natasha felt. He turned to leave, paused, and turned back.

 

“You got cologne?”

 

“Yeah” Stark said with a confused bend to his brow.

 

Clint smiled. “Put some on.”

 

\---

 

Tony did eventually pad out into his living room. Loki had to be dealt with, provisions had to be arranged, and he needed a drink. And so did Steve, Tony thought with a start, finding the tall man bundled into the corner of his couch, pink blanket pulled partly over his lap, other end still in it’s overturned basket on the floor. Steve’s energy was spent, resolution shot in the face of a simple, comfy couch. Tony smiled at the site.

 

He meandered into the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee, leaning into the comfort of the routine. He tapped out the group head, gave it a quick rinse and filled it with fresh coffee. He shoved his nose into the bag and gave it a hearty whiff. Ah. Coffee. Life.

 

As the coffee dripped into the awaiting mug, Tony surveyed his apartment. There was a large crater in the floor where Hulk smashed Loki. All the windows were blown out, glass covered every surface. The furniture was all pushed out of the centre of the room, now finding residence against the walls, and drink cups were stacked up at the bar. In the midst of all the madness, Steve had fallen asleep, cheek pressed into his curled fist. His blonde hair glinted against the late afternoon sun that poured in the windows. His filthy blue undershirt clung to his built biceps, looking too small on his large frame. Tony left the kitchen and came back a moment later with a bundle and his coffee.

 

He bumped Steve’s shoulder gently, smiling softly down at Steve as the man’s blue eyes looked up at him, sleepiness turning into eager acceptance as he took the cup of coffee.

 

“I know it won’t help, but... “

 

“Thanks.” Steve said. He clutched the mug between his large hands, took the offered sweatshirt and socks and watched Tony pad back into the kitchen, new cup of coffee underway.

 

For the next thirty minutes Steve would watch Tony in sleepy admiration. The genius started with the coffee, then moved on to the phone calls. There were no less than thirty voicemails left by people concerned about the tower, offering feigned condolences and congratulations with cringe-worthy effort. Tony navigated them as if he didn’t register the inconvenience. He provided vague information in answer to those callers and affected them with humorous assurances. Even Tony couldn’t hold back his grimace when he moved on to the press calls. He felt for the man, and felt somewhat responsible as the leader of their group, but shamelessly shook his head at Tony when the man glanced up in question, seeking answers to requests for conferences.

 

“There’s a lot up in the air. No comment at this time.” He’d said before hanging up, then directed a judgemental look at Steve. The blonde blushed and rubbed the back of his head, fixating instead on his cup of coffee.

 

“What do you want me to say? I’m no good with the press.” Steve offered, but Stark didn’t buy it.

 

“That’s not what _I’ve_ heard. You know I grew up hearing stories about you every night, right? You were like, a legend in my house. And I know you were practically the PR guy for the whole war effort. Star Spangled Man with a Plan my ass.”

 

Steve grimaced and blushed deeper. He forgot, since watching Tony take control of the situation at the Helicarrier, that he was the son of Howard Stark. It wasn’t that the two didn’t share similarities. Tony was a spitting image of his father. They were both bright and energetic and narcissistic and forward thinking and _brave._ But Tony was different, Steve could see that now. He wondered for a second what set Tony apart from his father, he wondered what made him _like_ the man, if only in the last few hours.

 

Steve’s eyes cast down at the coffee in his hand. It was so warm. So was his sweatshirt. It was clean and smelled nice and felt soft against his bruised skin. The socks were dry and clean. Steve thought he knew, taking them in along with the warm look in Tony’s eyes where he waited for Steve’s response. Howard Stark would give you anything you needed to get the job done, alright. Tony Stark would give you anything you needed to _be_ alright. He smiled guiltily at Tony.

 

“You’re right.”

 

\---

 

Thor was determined to see to his brother’s good health. He’d pulled the younger man into a guest room, taking stock of his tattered armour and greasy hair. His green eyes showed promise, some energy apparently restored by his meagre meal and the time spent at rest. He allowed Thor to maneuver him into the washroom with some cajoling.

 

“Is it no longer customary to wear your armour to trial?” Loki had said as he took the towel on offer. He couldn’t hide his vanity though, already peeking through medicine cabinets and cupboards to find where Stark surely kept his soaps. Thor watched with a scrunched up nose, smiling softly.

 

“It is. And you may redress yourself accordingly when the time comes. But as we don’t know when the tesseract carrier will become available to us, I think it best for you to shower and take a sleep.”

 

Loki had found a fancy bottle of body wash and gave it a sniff, pulling it away from his face with a scowl. Thor frowned, taking the bottle in his long fingers.

 

“You _love_ lavender. Don’t tell me your tastes have change so.”

 

He felt a little guilty, seeing his younger brother’s unsure face as he watched the titling blue liquid in the bottle, reticence taking shape in the firm line of his mouth. Thor reached out his hand and brushed his thumb along the ridge of Loki’s jaw, calmed when Loki’s hollowed eyes met his and filled again with some familiarity. The brunette shook his head lightly. He reached back into the cupboard and produced a bar of soap wrapped in a little paper cover. Thor took it in his hand, tearing the paper on the corner, and held it under Loki’s nose. It was scentless. The sorcerer nodded.

 

“Better.”

 

Nudity was no stranger to a warrior society, and Thor had bathed with Loki a thousand times before, but he’d never paid such close attention. He was watching to see some evidence of bruising or broken bones. He was worried when he found none, not a trace of damage anywhere on the alabaster skin except the split on his nose and scuffs on his knuckles. Not wanting to upset the young prince, he said nothing.

 

Thor stepped in first, turning the water on hot. Relief instantly filled him when the stream doused his hair, soothing his aching head. Loki stood stalk still, he watched the rising steam with trepidation.

 

Thor turned down the temperature and pulled his brother in.

 

\---

 

Loki would never admit to feeling relaxed, probably ever. It was not his prerogative to let others think him at ease. This was not a charade he could keep up though, he realized, melting instantly under the mist of tepid water. He knew Thor would prefer it hot, secretly grateful when his brother read between the lines. And when did he learn to do that? His time on Earth must have truly changed him.

 

Strong fingers rubbed shampoo into his hair, gently combing through the mess of black curls and rubbing the nape of his neck with gentle pressure. Thor brushed it, washed his back gently with a rough cloth, massaged his tired hands where they crowded together from the cuffs. Loki wasn’t sure why his brother was humouring him where in the past Thor callously ignored him after a fight, whether against one another or a foe, and would choose instead the company of his warriors. He wondered if Thor would have chosen his friends had they been present on Earth. Taking in preoccupation in his brothers eyes, Loki didn’t think so. He allowed himself to enjoy the moment of quiet, such opportunities few and far between.

 

\---

 

Thor allowed Loki to dry off in private, sensing some mounting hazard in their continued silence. He hadn’t _always_ been good at reading people, or detecting a changing mood, or knowing to keep quiet, but he liked to think he was improving. The clothes he’d procured from Stark sat on the nightstand. He passed them to Loki when the lithe man emerged from the washroom, a sleepy look on his face.

 

He pulled Loki on to the bed. The sorcerer made no move to escape, and even Thor, oblivious though he may be, knew that his brother was feeling at ease, loathe though he’d be to admit it. Thor wrapped an arm under Loki, pressing his hand to his waist, and curled around the smaller man. He pulled the blankets over them.

 

It wouldn’t take long for Loki to fall asleep. Thor would watch for a time before succumbing to his own fatigue, and dug his nose into Loki’s soft, clean hair.

 

\---

Bruce eventually found the kitchen. As soon as he entered he was accosted, cup of hot tea pressed into his hands.

 

“It’s decaf. Peppermint. You seem like a green kind of guy. Pun intended _._ ”

 

“Uh. Yeah. Thank you.” Bruce said gratefully. He took a relaxing sip of the tea and perched tentatively on a stool at the kitchen island. He twisted around to see Steve on the couch, report in his hand. “Where is everyone?”

 

“Nat and Hawkeye are in my bedroom, doing… something. Let’s not discuss it. I mean, I don’t know what they’re doing. But I also don’t want to guess. Thor is, well, somewhere. Right?” Tony asked with a frown to Steve, the blonde coming to sit next to Bruce at the island. He nodded to Bruce’s tea, tipping his own mug in salute.

 

“Guest bedroom. He said he was going to make Loki take a nap. I don’t see it, but after the day they’ve had I thought they could use a bit of privacy.”

 

There was a Hmmm of agreement from Tony. He was rapping his spoon against the counter. Bruce watched with interest. Tap, tap, slide, rap, tap, tap, stir, clink- Steve was also transfixed, seeming to know already that something was bothering the genius before them. The spoon bounded and stopped all at once, brown eyes coming up with a spark.

 

“Loki.”

 

They waited for more to come, none did. Steve stepped in.

 

“Loki…?”

 

“He ate cucumbers for lunch.”

 

Bruce frowned, looking to Steve.

 

“Is that… wrong?” The taller man ventured.

 

“Hmm? No. Just, he’s royalty, right? Have you seen Thor? In the brief time we’ve known him what have we seen him eat?” Tony asked with an imploring set to his brow.

 

“Shawarma.”

 

“ _Two_ shawarma. With all the fixings. Including banana peppers.” Tony corrected. “And a large mountain dew. And a bowl of cocoa puffs as soon as we got back. And a bucket of fruit roll ups. And a chocolate. And a beer. Where did he even get that? _And_ a waffle. And a stick of butter _._ I kid you not. I caught him in the Helicarrier. Seriously.”

 

“So what’s your point?” Bruce asked, reaching his hand out to take the abused spoon from Tony.

 

“It’s not that he wasn’t hungry. He looked like he was afraid to eat.”

 

Tony waited. And waited. Bruce looked like he had something to add but didn’t want to step on the Cap’s toes. Eventually Steve did pipe up, sighing into his coffee.

 

“You think he was what, held captive?”

 

“Or worse.” Tony said with a frown. He’d retrieved the spoon and was bouncing it against the counter again. “And that’s not all. He wanted something _mild_ to eat. After you got pulled out of the freezer, what’s the first thing you wanted?” Tony asked Steve, pointing the spoon at him.

 

Steve frowned. “A cup of coffee. Thanks again. We had a pot every morning in the Commandos, it’s kind of part of the routine. We’d make it over the campfire. It was never very good, war rations never were. But that was the first thing I asked for when I woke up.”

 

“Right. It was a comfort thing. And when I got back from Afghanistan, all I’d eaten for months was gritty curry. I just wanted an American burger. Comfort food. That’s what I got, actually. Warm, salty, soft, hamburger. I dreamt about it the whole time I was kept hostage. Bruce?”

 

“You’ve got me pegged.” Bruce said with a shy laugh, tapping on the rim of his tea cup. “It’s a nice change after being… You know… Huge and green and angry..”

 

“So you see what I’m getting at? Let’s run over the facts. Loki sabotages Thor’s inauguration. He finds out he’s adopted. He kills _a lot_ of people. He throws himself into a black hole -which should have killed him, by the way, demigod or not. He gets spit out on the other end and winds up with the Chitauri, almost a year later. That’s a long time after the fact. He’s stuck in a foreign land on the edge of space, god knows what they fed him. He gets to Earth and he can eat anything he wants. What _should_ he get?” Tony asked, spoon now clutched firmly in one hand, eyes cast to the ceiling.

 

“Comfort food.”

 

“Right, but he doesn’t. He was hungry, but he wouldn’t take the food readily offered to him. It’s too flavourful. He wants something mild.”

 

“You’re thinking sensory deprivation?” Bruce asked, tea forgotten at his elbow. Tony levelled the spoon at him.

 

“Ding ding ding. We’ve got a winner. Now we need a timeline.”

 

“Sorry.” Steve interjected politely, raising a calming hand in front of Tony. “What does this have to do with us?”

 

Tony bore into his eyes, mouth pressed into a firm line before he turned to Bruce. He saw some alliance there, Bruce’s light brown eyes shone with consideration. The doctor turned to Steve.

 

“He might have a good reason to be crazy.”

 

\---

 

There was much discussion that followed. They argued, they reasoned, they agreed on some things. Steve wasn’t one to take it easy on a genocidal murderer, but the way Stark’s voice sounded, that certainty he was coming to recognize in the deep voice, made Steve consider the idea.

 

He talked to Fury on the video telephone. He found it off putting to talk into a _TV,_ they were for watching cartoons, but stood tall and proud on the feed. His sweatshirt didn’t help matters. It said **_Juicy_ **in big embroidered letters. He allowed himself a moment to wonder why Stark had this. And why was it so big? Shaking his head, Steve tried to concentrate on Fury.

 

They wanted Loki back at the Helicarrier, put into a cage. Stark was _not_ a fan of the idea, he objected from behind the super soldier. He wanted to keep Loki at the tower. While Steve wasn’t keen on allowing Tony to develop a rapport with their prisoner, he was also not interested in the ‘captivity’ Fury had on offer. He said as much.

 

“Loki stays with us.” He screwed up his mouth but couldn’t stop himself. “Sorry.”

 

Tony smiled with guilty amusement. Steve could see it on the reverse cam. He fixed the man with a stern look that did nothing to quell Stark’s delight.

 

 _“I respect what your saying, Cap. But we’ve got people to answer to. We can’t do that without a proper interrogation.”_ Fury said in a calm and direct manner. Steve felt like Fury was trying to explain something to a person who was both very dense and very slow. He was exasperated at the idea but tried not to let it come through in his voice.

 

“We’ll handle that on our end. Loki’s been cooperative so far. We have some theories on why that might be.”

 

 _“And I’m sure that they’re_ very nice _theories. No doubt they were thought up by a non-biased third party. Not by someone with a proven track record of doing whatever the hell they want.”_ Fury rejoined, looking judgmentally at Tony, who took a deep sip of his coffee, not breaking eye contact.

 

“Ohhhh. Look at that. My connection is _so bad._ It must be the damage from the portal. The one that opened up over my house. That I flew a bomb into. A bomb that _your_ organization authorized use of. Oops, oh no. What’s happe-”

 

Tony turned off the TV. Steve looked at him placidly, but he made no move to stop the genius.

 

“What, you don’t want to talk to Fury anymore? I’m shocked. Shocked, I tell you.”

 

Steve’s mouth pulled into a smile. He couldn’t help it. He tried not to let it but he knew it was happening. Stark grinned back, giving Steve a warm clap on the shoulder.

 

“I’m good for now.” Was all Steve offered.

 

And he was. He wasn’t _thrilled_ that the only thing between Loki and them was a pair of handcuffs. Even if they did dampen his magic, or so Thor said. Steve didn’t even really know what that meant. Plus, he thought, Loki was the one who _got_ them the cuffs. They could be compromised. But then what difference did it make? He wasn’t sure there was anywhere in their world that could really hold the demigod, what with his insane strength, violent tendencies, high intelligence and general see-it-throughedness. Steve had to admit, he admired a person with the gall to stick to their plans, even if their plans were terrible. And Loki wasn’t a terrible prisoner, anyways. He was actually fairly pleasant. Steve wondered what that said about his life choices, to think of a mass murdering super alien as a good prisoner of war because he was nice to talk to. He tried not to dwell on it.

 

\---

 

Natasha came around in the early evening. She rubbed sleep from her eyes, feet quiet on the concrete floors in her big thermal socks, sweat pants and light t-shirt taking the place of her normal spandex suit.

 

“I washed it for you.” Tony said when he caught sight of her. “I tried, anyways. I might have ruined it. I’m too scared to look. Please don’t hurt me if it’s ruined.” Natasha sidled up to him, ran her knuckles over his hipbone, making him jump a little. He settled into the contact after a moment and gave her side a squeeze, but his face changed into offence not a moment later. She was lifting off his hoodie.

 

“No. Not the hoodie. First my socks and now this. I won’t have anything left.”

 

Natasha laughed, not relenting her pull. The hoodie was stuck on his head. She snuck her hands inside and inched it over, tickling Tony in the process. He yelped and jittered. “I’ll let you take me shopping for more stuff.”

 

“Yeah.” Tony said, voice still muffled inside the fabric. “We’ll get you your own sweaters.”

 

“No.” She replied, now clutching the garment. She pulled it on in one swift motion, smirk gracing the side of her lips. “We’ll get _you_ more stuff for _me_ to take.”

 

Tony rolled his eyes. He ducked into his fridge and emerged with two beers, passing one to Natasha where she hopped up on counter. He tut-tutted her with a wagging finger. “This is for your ankle. Not for drinking.” His order fell on deaf eyes, brown eyes captivated when she slowly pulled open the tab, watching him while she took a sip.

 

“Traitor.” He said, and passed her the other beer. “ _This_ one is for your ankle.” Then he slapped her thigh lightly and turned back to his holo-pad. He was working on the wireframe of the city, analyzing and flagging disrupted supply lines with efficient swipes of his fingers. While he worked he brought Natasha up to speed on their theories.

 

“Sensory deprivation.” He said to start. She hmm’d in agreement.

 

“Enough to cause all this? Delusions of grandeur, mass murder, intergalactic warfare…” She rattled off. Tony bopped her leg with a finger. “You thinking Chitauri?” She asked considerately.

 

“Not necessarily. Thor said he went through a black hole _inside_ of a wormhole. There could be some time dilation involved. Not to mention the act of going through a black hole in itself would be enough to drive anyone crazy.”

 

Natasha schooled him with a serious look. “He is guilty, Tony.”

 

“I know. The question isn’t whether or not he’s guilty. He had a rap sheet before getting here, remember? The question is _how guilty is he?_ How much of this would be a write off by reason of insanity?”

 

“He seems pretty lucid to me.” She supplied. She kept her voice steady, not demonstrating bias in her tone, though Tony could see he was toeing a fine line.

 

“That’s what’s bothering me. He should be _crazier.”_

 

\---

 

They took a break from their round table discussion to complete some much needed house planning. Night was drawing in and stomachs were starting to rumble. The Avengers who’d taken naps, brief though they were, were faring pretty well all things considered. Clint got up after a spell on Tony’s bed and joined them with tousled hair, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Natasha knocked him lightly in the hip, producing a beer for him. He took it gratefully and sat himself at the island where the others were wrapping up a new bout of intrigued debate about the invasion.

 

“What are we talking about?” He asked groggily.

 

“Dinner.” Tony supplied, jumping ahead of Steve. “I’m famished.”

 

“I could eat.” Bruce joined helpfully. Natasha looked at Clint in query, who nodded along.

 

“Great. Case closed, we’ll get pizza. And something soft for Prince Charming. I know a guy. He does it all. And speaking of family dinners, where is everyone staying tonight?”

 

Steve watched Tony’s little ramble with an awkward expression. He rubbed the back of his neck out of habit, turning to Bruce and Clint. “I suppose we could go back to SHIELD HQ. We’ve got rooms there.” This was the wrong answer, Steve would later recognize.

 

“Beds. We’ll need some. And blankets. Pillows. The works. How do you feel about bath bombs? What am I saying, everyone loves bath bombs.”

 

“True.” Natasha cut in with a wry smile at Steve. He squinted at her, suspicion blossoming in his mind, and Steve watched in budding horror as Tony set off, feeling shameful words like Freeloader and Mooch and Gold Digger appear unbid in his brain at the unbound generosity being offered by the man before him.

 

“Right. So that. And food. We’ll need provisions. I mean, how long will Loki be here? It could be a day, it could be a week.”

 

“Or a month.” She joshed again. Bruce, sat next to Natasha in polite silence, was catching on.

 

“Or a year. You guys can’t stay at SHIELD for a year. You’ll die of boredom. So. TVs. Xbox. Foosball. My house is way funner than SHIELD anyways. I don’t mean to harsh, but SHIELD sucks. No offence.”

 

“None taken.” Clint waved him off.

 

“It’s not like I don’t have the space. I mean, I was using a few floors for storage, but who needs it? Actually, I do need it. It’s fine. We’ll get rid of the night club. I think it’s blown up anyways. I’ll just tell them not to fix it, we’ll get the boxes moved down there tonight. I’ve got loads of room.”

 

“You’re too kind-” Steve tried to say, feeling helpless against the Tour de Force that was Tony Stark. He could feel his control of the situation slipping, slipping, gone, right out of his grasp. “We couldn’t _possibly_ impose. I have a place in Brooklyn, and I’ve got a couch-”

 

“No. That’s. No. How dare you. Even the idea- My god. Should we take a vote? I didn’t think so.” Tony said without a moment of pause. “I know a guy, we’ll get this sorted out. It’s gonna be great. Like a sleepover. We can take a family trip to Ikea.”

 

Bruce grinned, watching Tony in adulation. “Can we get meatballs?”

 

Tony levelled a spoon at him. Steve wondered where he was procuring this cutlery from. “You, sir, are a gentleman and a scholar. Look, guys, he’s got the right idea.”

 

“I have demands.” Clint said with mock seriousness. A pillow crease was still imprinted on one cheek.

 

“Anything.”

 

“Two words. Transformer. Bedsheets.”

 

“You got it.”

 

“I want a pony.” Natasha said.

 

“Done. Wait. Hold that thought. I can’t risk it dying. I’ll get you a robotic pony.”

 

“I wouldn’t mind staying a couple days. I mean, if it’s not too much trouble. It would make it easier to come down from… You know. Hulking out. Plus, I want to hear what Loki’s got to say about the Einstein Rosen Bridge.”

 

“You’re not going anywhere.” Tony said in all seriousness to Bruce. “You’re with me now. Head of Radiation, Brucie. It’s gonna be a whole new department. We’ll get you some interns. Real ones. Not robots. But if you want robots, just say the word. We could make one a panini grill.”

 

“With wheels?” Bruce joked. He wasn’t going to take Tony up on his offer. “I’m not saying yes. That would be absurd, and too generous.”

 

“Done. It’s done. No backing out now.”

 

Bruce would have said ‘Oops’ if he thought he could get away with it. He didn’t. He just nodded. He wasn’t going to take advantage of this incredible man, it wasn’t his intention. But then. Bruce didn’t really think it was his choice. The idea soothed him a bit. He looked to Cap. Apparently Steve was the only one still resistant to Stark’s good will.

 

“Just give in, Captain. There’s no use fighting it.”

 

“That’s right. Look. A genius. A man of good taste.” Tony said in support. He reached across the table where Bruce accepted his high five.

 

Steve sighed.

 

\---

 

The _“guy”_ Tony called was not, in fact, a guy. It was an acne riddled teenager who was _terrified_ to enter the expensive flat. The look of abject horror on his face at first finding the Avengers was priceless. Clint snapped a photo.

 

“Lest we forgot.” He said to the group. Natasha nodded like it was given.

 

The teenager’s name was Jason, or so his dinky name-tag would suggest, the word _Francielli’s_ scripted on top in looping cursive. He wore a blue visor and blue branded polo and khaki pants. His white converse were marked up with the debris from the battle. When he arrived in the elevator, he produced what must have been no less than a hundred boxes.

 

Tony had been on the phone with Pepper again that evening. He went through her, though it wasn’t official business, to procure much needed provisions. She arranged the orders for pick up and sent out SI employees, who were now elsewhere in the tower slugging boxes out of the storage floors and into the nightclub. But Jason was special. He was Tony’s protegé. His knight in shining armour. Plus, Tony had explained to Steve at one point, he’d do _anything_ for a good enough tip. He produced box after box of cereals and beers and pizzas and milk. He had on offer every variety of soap and linen and blanket. He even had a box of clothes Tony had ordered from a local retailer, which he eagerly tore into the moment it arrived, passing out T-Shirts to the gathered crowd. A series of groans erupted, the coloured shirts waved around with disapproval.

 

“ **I Survived the Invasion of New York** **And All I Got Was This Lousy T Shirt?** ” Bruce read, eyebrows climbing up, up and away into his dusky fringe. He held up the blue shirt over his chest, garnering a real, genuine laugh from Steve. Tony practically glowed. Natasha loved her new shirt, she slipped it on under her new favourite hoodie with a wry grin.

 

Steve took some other clothes as well, accepting them with way too many thank-yous for Tony’s liking. Bruce was a sock hog, as it turned out, stealing five pairs and shoving them into a basket by the door for safe keeping.

 

“Dibs!” He called out to the room at large. No one paid attention. “Dibs. Dibs!”

 

Clint did eventually accept a tee-shirt, but not without inspecting all his colour options first. The one he eventually chose was way too tight and pink, more suited for evening wear to a gay club than casual wear around the tower. Tony wasn’t big on physical contact, but he didn’t try very hard to escape Clint’s hug when it happened. He could feel Clint’s muscles through the shirt.

 

“I know we don’t know each other that well.” Clint said into his ear, loud enough for Steve to hear where he sat on the couch. “But I love you, man.” Steve blushed. He was once again not helped by his **_Juicy_ **sweatshirt. Between that and his loose joggers, Tony thought he’d make a fine teenage girl. He tried to keep the thought to himself, but he did mention it to Clint in a conspiratorial whisper later that night. They were sequestered over by the microwave, waiting for their popcorn to be ready.

 

“I’d hit it.” Clint said with a straight face. Tony paused, looking at Steve and back at Clint.

 

“You think he’d go for it?”

 

Clint shrugged. “If you don’t go for it _I will.”_ He poked his finger into Tony’s shoulder in threat. Tony hmm’d.

 

“Fine, but I get Thor.” He walked briskly away, Clint calling after him in outrage.

 

“That’s not fair! I didn’t know Thor was on the table!”

 

Tony spun back dramatically. “If I have my way, Thor will be more than just on the table.” And he shot finger guns at Clint. Steve blushed for the hundredth time that night.

 

“Fine.” Clint scowled. “Have fun with your _virgin.”_

 

“Nuh. Have fun with _your_ virgin.”

 

“I will! Come on Cap. We’ve got lovemaking to do. Dibs bottom.”

 

“No?” Steve said quietly from the couch, fear in his eyes. Natasha sat next to him, bracing her arm over his chest. Steve was relieved for the backup, until-

 

“This one’s mine.”

 

\---

 

By the time Thor woke up, the rest of the Avengers had settled onto the couch to watch the news, taking in the innumerable second hand accounts of the attack and the cell-phone footage that followed. They commented lightly, pointing out good saves by one person or another, comparing the second point of view to how they’d seen it. Natasha had one leg thrown over Tony’s thigh, swollen ankle lifted off the floor, and she leaned against Clint’s shoulder. Tony was tapping away on his tablet, still working on arrangements for SI’s involvement in the clean up. Clint had one arm lingering on the back of the couch, beer in hand and bag of popcorn in his lap, which Natasha and Tony were picking from. Bruce sat in an armchair off to the side. He had another glass of tea and looked resplendently at ease with his clean clothes and his blanket, showered and fresh. Steve was very still and prim on the couch. If Tony were to focus on him, he may be reminded of Phil Coulson where he’d sat for the first time only months ago, stressed and resigned to Tony’s company much the way Steve was now. He’d fallen asleep watching the TV, and Tony had draped a blanket over him. The brunette tried not to think on that now, and he kept his eyes carefully away from Steve.

 

Thor watched them from the hall. The way they chatted together, already finding some comfort at the odd company, reminded him of home and of the friends he’d left there. He knew the time would come soon when he would no longer seek their companionship. They would spurn his brother, and he couldn’t bear it. It took mere hours of feeling Loki’s presence at his side, the intrinsic trust Loki had granted to him without so much as a word, to know he’d never let his brother stray from him again.

 

It was these thoughts that kept the large man standing in the entry to the living room, watching lonely and resolute. He felt that if he joined them, he may be made to defend his brother. He didn’t have the heart to hear ill passage on Loki’s behalf, but they’d endured enough wrong doing it would only be their right. Thor let himself observe for a moment longer before he decided to turn in, but was caught out.

 

“Hey big man.” Stark called, his brown eyes were warm and welcoming. “How’s your brother holding up?”

 

Thor said nothing for a moment, trying to use his limited power of deduction to determine if this was a genuine question or a probe. But Stark was a considerate man. He’d detected Loki’s affliction with taste before Thor himself. He’d offered up his home and bed in comfort.

 

“He rests, still. I worry he is not so fit as he shows himself to be. Loki is not too proud to hide his hurts from sympathetic eyes. I fear there is more to his condition than the marks of this battle.” Thor offered. He couldn’t stop himself seeking some support. The team shared looks, words unsaid passing between calculating gazes.

 

“You’re not looking so hot yourself. You need a beer.” He traced Stark’s movements to the kitchen, grateful smile pulled over his face when the man produced a cheese pie and a drink.

 

“Pizza.” Stark said, pointing at the food. He came to stand in front of Thor, offering him the beer. “Plenty more where that came from. We got loads of food for Loki, he can pick through it when he’s up. Pudding and oatmeal and stuff like that. Hopefully it’s enough. There’s clean clothes for him, too.”

 

Thor didn’t know what to say at first. His heart was fit to burst in a matter of moments. Though he knew the shorter man before him presented with a dubious frown at contact, Thor couldn’t help but squeeze his shoulders gently.

 

“Your kindness to Loki means everything to me.”

 

Stark smiled, and there was an earnesty to his brown eyes Thor knew he could trust.

 

“Anything he needs. Just say the word.”

 

In the far distant future, long after regaling his own sons and daughters with stories of his time on Earth, Thor would still never be able to express how eternally those words affected him. He could not impress on others who Stark really was. He couldn’t explain to them how his mortal eyes shone bright and unrelenting and non judgemental in their kindness.

 

He couldn’t summarize how beyond his measure as a fighter or a leader or hero in every right, Tony Stark was just a man with a big, big heart.

 

\---

 

That night, the people of New York would grieve and sing in vigil together, holding out candles as tiny beacons reflecting the ever bright shine of Stark Tower. Wreaths and flowers and pictures of loved ones would be set up all across the city, shrines in some places built up to mounds for the lives lost inside crumbled buildings. Families would open their doors and their hearts to people displaced in the attacks. Some would cry for loved ones lost, others rejoice to have found each other again. Many more would perish, not knowing that first responder still dug, late into the night, to save every possible soul. But everyone knew about the attack, and the message of their incredible saviours would spread around the globe. Messages were written out on walls and in gardens and on beaches, anywhere eager hands could reach out to offer thanks, there you could find the words, _Thank You Avengers._ These people knew of a world altering attack on New York that would rob hundreds of lives as the week closed out, sending minds and hearts reeling from the fallout.

 

They didn’t know just how bad it could have been, how easily they could have been overwhelmed and defeated. The only two people who aware would share a roof that night, and both dark haired men would dream of the destruction, of a massive fleet waiting just beyond the lip of the portal, incinerated in a ball of expanding flames.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a REWRITE.
> 
> Whoopsie doodle. I posted this chapter before I was happy with it and couldn't let it be, my bad people. I'm still learning. At least this new version is almost 10,000 words, and it's not going anywhere.
> 
> Anyways, thanks for the faves, follows and of course feedback, it's always much appreciated!


	7. The No Good Very Bad Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RE-FUCKING-WRITE. 
> 
> Sorry it's been so long! I've been totally stumped by this chapter and have decided to delete and republish so it's closer to what I wanted. Next chapter will be out on Monday. Also, I know I have to watch Thor2 and IronMan3 soon and it's such a bummer. 
> 
> Endgame is coming out next week. I hope ya'll are ready for some feels. I won't be watching til this fic is caught up :-)

Nick Fury liked to think of himself as a patient man. He was a leader in the intelligence community. He wielded authority without much effort (the eyepatch helped.) And he didn’t like to fuck around where his job was concerned, though a good sense of humour was a necessity. He had positive qualities. If forced at gunpoint to attribute some words to himself, he might even say _commanding_ or _composed_ or _persuasive._

 

But not today.

 

Today, he didn’t feel commanding, composed _or_ persuasive.

 

“My tower, my rules. What aren’t you getting about that?”

 

“Come on, Stark. We don’t need another jacuzzi. You already have one, and one is one too many.”

 

“I’m with Stark. We need another jacuzzi. I thought you were going to spoil us?”

 

“Is that a challenge? You don’t even know, baby. I’m gonna give you everything you ever wanted.”

 

“Tony-”

 

“I’m going to have you calling me daddy.”

 

Fury should have known better than to get Stark and Barton under one roof. Actually, he _did_ know better. He’d kept them apart for _so long,_ despite courting both for the Avengers Initiative _._ And Romanov? She was no help.

 

“I need a new car.” She offered innocuously. She plucked a piece of cantaloupe from their complimentary breakfast spread and took a luscious bite, gaze fixated on Rogers. _“Daddy.”_

 

Rogers blushed. Fury scowled. “I expected better of all of you.” Worse than the bickering between Rogers and Stark or the flirting between Barton and Stark or the friendship between Romanov and Stark was Loki, full stop. Having finally hauled the mass murderer in, Fury was expecting some dramatics, whether in the way of bawling regret or seething anger, either would be preferable to the man’s complacency. At his left was Thor, too focused on the food to get involved in the argument, and on his right, Barton. It didn’t sit well with Fury, seeing the archer at all times just inches from Loki, never straying too far.

 

“Anything for my princess. And prince. _Princes._ It’s settled, we’ll get another jacuzzi. One for each apartment, maybe.”

 

“We don’t need _individual apartments_. We’ve all got places of our own.”

 

When the Captain didn’t receive backup from his too-quiet teammates, many of whom had no place to call home or nowhere nice enough to want to go to, he gave in. Stark sensed this. “Don’t worry Cap.” He said, patting the blonde mans huge hand in mock affection. Rogers seemed reluctant. “I’ll take care of everything.”

 

Fury couldn’t help his sigh, wishing not for the first time Coulson were still around to manage Stark. He’d had a way of calming the man, mannerisms like a balm for unruly guests. It was up to Fury now. “Let’s get back on track. Thor, have you got a return flight?”

 

“We do not. The tesseract vessel is still under repair.” Thor had cream-cheese in his moustache. It made it difficult to take him seriously, and that was _before_ Fury saw the commemorative T-shirt. Thor nudged his brother and Loki’s brows wiggled up on his high crown.

 

“We may have broken it.” A smile passed between them, Thor’s knuckles rapped against Loki’s on the table. Fury didn’t miss how Barton’s eyes darted to their hands at the contact, just as quick to look away.

 

“Any idea when it’ll stop being broken?”

 

“I… do not.”

 

“The vessel was emulsified after Thor and I used it to capture a rogue fire spirit in Muspelheim. We burned down the whole West wing of the palace.” Loki rattled off. When no response came, he clarified. “The palace was surprisingly easy to burn down for being made of gold.” His face was as serene as an untouched pond but his eyes told another story. Thor snickered.

 

“A design flaw. When I become king of Asgard I will rebuild it with ice and slate.”

 

Loki turned to his brother scrupulously. “What an asinine idea! By Tir, just take over Jotunnheim already, would you?”

 

Thor smiled brightly and clasped a big hand around Loki’s thin neck.

 

“O’, tis’n’t I who will reign over Jotunnheim, brother. They’ve specifically asked for you!”

 

“ _What?”_ For all his demure pretence, Loki was stunned. Stark and Romanov shared a glance. Banner scribbled notes down on his shiny new StarkPad.

 

“Quite! Don’t think you are off the hook so easy, little brother. You have an active role to play in repairing our treaty with the Jotnar.” Loki was speechless. His disbelief turned into scrutiny. Thor took this as an invitation to continue, which in hindsight Fury should have put a stop to. “Aye! After your disappearance, we were at the brink of war with the Frost Giants. Your half brother Byleistr has succeeded to the throne with your youngest brother Helblindi his counsel, though I think him not nearly as capable as you-”

 

“I already _have_ a brother.” Loki derided. His eyes blazed, there was a flush to his neck and his fingers curled. The heartache on his face made him seem years younger, though what age he was regardless - Fury couldn’t say. Rogers’ hand automatically went to his shield leant up against his bag. Romanov’s fingers rapped on the table. Thor was totally oblivious, continuing on chirpily as he patted his younger brother’s back, ignoring the _meaning_ for the face value of the words.

 

“And now you have two more! But Byleistr is not well liked amongst the giants. His incredible height does nothing to win over the confidence of his men. They think him weak of heart and a cheat to the line of succession. When the Jotnar got word of your revival they came to an agreement amongst themselves -If Byleister does not reach a successful treaty with Asgard, he will be beheaded by his own ranks, and Helblindi exiled.”

 

“What the hell has this got to do with Earth?” Fury interjected, thinking this was as good a chance as he’d get. “Cause we’ve got perfectly good prisons on down here that would _love_ to take your brother in, WhatHisFace and Fuckwad be damned.” The words sailed over the giants head. Fury thought he could see them, arching up, over, and out the window. Thor addressed the room in the same bright simplicity, large hand on the arm of his brothers chair.

 

“The Jotnar value ruthless spirit above all else, a quality Loki has demonstrated in spades. They will sign a treaty only if Loki agrees to be wed King of Jotunnheim.”

 

Amongst the clatter of responses Loki looked incredulous. Barton reached for a bagel and a plastic knife. He messily serrated the bread, a pile of crumbs forming underneath, and snapped up a pack of whipped butter.

 

“I will do no such thing…” The young prince objected sternly, voice quiet and smooth. Barton buttered his bagel.

 

“Worry not, brother. You will be given a choice of groomsmen.”

 

Barton passed Loki the plastic knife. The young prince took it with preoccupation, eyes still on Thor.

 

“And who else has made offer for the hand of Loki?”

 

Thor grinned _._ “Tis’ I!”

 

\---

 

**Incident Report H4-Ga3/0**

**Avengers Initiative Meeting: 001**

**May 7, 2012 - 11:02AM**

**_Present: Director Fury, Deputy Director Hill, Avengers Members (Rogers, Stark, Romanov, Barton, Banner, Thor), Loki (Captive)_ **

 

 **Injuries Recorded:** **Thor: Minor stab wound; Abdomen (R/L)**

**Loki: Bone fracture; Tibula (L/U)**

 

 **Damage:** **Windows, Table, Computer, Chairs**

 

 **Weapon:** **Plastic Knife (Variety - Butter)**

 

 **Notes** **_: Director Fury does not wish to discuss this matter further._ **

 

 **Other:** **_NO FURTHER BREAKFAST SPREADS ARE TO BE PROVIDED BY SHIELD_ ** **.** ****

  


**\----**

 

Fury left as soon as the breakfast platter was destroyed. He offered a few “mother fuckers” for good measure. It did bring him some dregg of happiness to know Loki wouldn’t enjoy his coronation. While he fought it out, Barton watched from a corner with an uneasy expression, Romanov went off to find ‘real coffee’ with Banner and Stark and Rogers were arguing in the hall.

 

Fury considered disbanding the Avengers all together.

 

\---

 

A circuit of the facility helped to soothe his nerves. It usually did the trick to see progress being made on his more grounded projects, today was no exception. Scientists and agents caught up with him in halls and bathrooms and labs to hand off updates and ask for increased funding or man power. Making fast paced decisions in a heated work environment was Fury’s forte, and he leant into the routine as he paced around the building. When his circuit was complete he darted across the street to the local coffee joint, well accustomed to SHIELD agents as it was. The familiar neon lighting for **BILL’S HOT COFF** always soothed Fury’s aching head. He ordered a medium black coffee from his favourite barista, Isla, who had a perceptive mind and a welcoming smile. Outside of ascertaining Fury’s orders, Isla didn’t ask too many questions. The occasional follow up could be expected if Fury ever decided to linger, though those times were rare. She smiled shrewdly while restocking cup lids.

 

“Rough day?”

 

He finished stirring in his sugar and replaced his cup lid. “You have no idea.”

 

\---

 

Natasha Romanov and Bruce Banner were getting acquainted in the SHIELD canteen. It was one of the spy’s favourite places outside of her home in Stark Tower, always busy with people who knew her name and weren’t afraid to address her as Natasha in privacy of passing. This is where Fury sought her out. He sat himself wearily at the communal table by the woman’s side. She smirked in greeting and peeled the top off a little yoghurt cup. She had a banana beside her. It looked innocent enough, but Fury was not a fool. To her, anything could be a deadly weapon.

 

“Doctor Banner, Agent Romanov. What’s your take on Barton?"

 

Romanov and Banner shared a look.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“What I mean, Doctor, is after what Loki did to him, I was kinda hoping for a body bag by now.”

 

“I, uh, may be able to shed some light on that.” Banner said around a sip of coffee. “We had a chance to speak to Loki and Clint this morning-”

 

“And who’s _we?”_

 

Banners smiled pensively. “Tony and I. He’s got some theories going already. That guy- He works like crazy. He hasn’t stopped.” Fury eyed Natasha. She eyed him back, not offering any input. “When Barton fell under the mind control, it wasn’t a direct master-slave relationship like we’d thought. Their minds melded,” His eyes slanted to Natasha mirthfully “-like two cheeses in a fondue pot.”

 

“Is that really the best analogy you could think of, Doctor?”

 

“It was Steve’s analogy.” Romanov said with a smirk.

 

“Anyways. The scepter gave them an empathic understanding, a chance to sort of peer into each others headspace. Memories, feelings, desires, it was all fair game. It’s symbiotic. The scepter took everything else away and just left-” Banner made a sort of frustrated gesture with his hands, “It just left the will to accomplish their goals. Barton’s _goal,_ everything in his life, boiled down to protecting Loki. Although that connection has been broken, he’s still feeling the lingering effects.”

 

“We think Loki acts as a conductor for the scepter.”

 

“Right. It’s a proximity thing. When Loki leaves, the residue should fade away.“

 

Fury sighed and pinched his nose. He didn’t want to ask. “ _Residue?”_

 

Banner had the decency to look guilty, mouth pulling into a sympathetic little frown while Romanov took another diplomatic bite of her yoghurt.

 

“Magic.”

 

Another sigh melted out of Fury, as if pulled by a string deep inside of him. “So when Loki leaves, Barton goes back to normal. And until then, you’re just going to keep pampering him like he’s not a hostile alien force? Is that right-” Fury put up a finger to Banner, already prepared to answer, and turned instead to Romanov, “Agent?”

 

Romanov smirked. “We kind of like him.”

 

\---

 

The Avengers, Fury’s team of elite high powered super-heroes, should not _like_ Loki. It wouldn’t look good for PR.

 

With that in mind, Fury accosted Steve Rogers in a hall near the conference room.

 

“Do you _like_ Loki?”

 

At least Rogers had the humanity to look caught out. He tried to put on a commanding face. “I don’t _not_ like him. I mean. I don’t _like_ him. But I’ve dealt with a lot of prisoners during the war.” He looked imploringly at Fury. The patriotic reminder meant nothing to him. Rogers seemed to sense this. “It’s easier for us if Loki cooperates. Even with the cuffs he isn’t exactly helpless.”

 

\---

 

Steve Rogers was not helpful. He’d have to talk to Stark.

 

But before he could do that, he would have to find him. This proved more difficult than it should. Stark had once again hacked into their security that morning and had made the rounds of Fury’s labs where he was _not_ supposed to be. At least he wasn’t shy about it. He actually waved Fury in when they spotted each other. Stark was having a blast signing autographs for a gaggle of young, pretty female scientists.

 

“Do we need to have a conversation about proper workplace conduct?” He chided on entering. The groupies cleared off instantly with frightened apologies. Stark perched himself on the nearest desk, coffee in hand. That was his third cup, his hands shook almost imperceptibly. Fury did a subtle sweep, noticing Stark’s slightly gaunt skin and dark ringed eyes. He filed the image away, ready to proceed with questioning, when Stark beat him to it.

 

“Barton?”

 

“I hear you’ve got theories.”

 

“Yeah.” Stark wiped a hand over his tired face, eyes elsewhere. “The influence of the scepter should dissipate when they leave. Because of Loki’s magic-” Fury was please to see a grimace in response to the word, “He’s sort of transmitting the signal against his will, like a radio wave pinging off a satellite. He can’t really help it, although, to be fair, he is _sort of_ trying. Meditating, sleeping, keeping to himself, that sort of thing. Until he leaves, we’ve just got to let Barton have it.”

 

“It’s not just Barton though is it? Maybe I don’t know you people as well as I thought I did. Or maybe I’m missing some crucial piece of information here. But last time I checked, Loki committed genocide. He killed one of our own, Stark. He busted up your tower. Almost cost you your life. So what are you not telling me?”

 

Stark set his jaw and looked away for a moment. A vein in his neck jumped up, his brows furrowed. The tension settled long enough for Fury to appreciate Stark’s resolve. Then just like that, he turned back around, eyes alight and fixated on Fury’s own. He nodded to the computer next to him.

 

“Jarvis?”

 

_“Retrieving video file marked May 5 - 2012 : MK2.”_

 

Stark didn’t look at the screen, face strained even from the audio playing off footage from the Iron Man suit. It started with carrying the missile, slipping past the rim of the portal, entering deep, dark space-

 

“ _Stark, you know that's a one-way trip?”_

 

_“Sir. Shall I call Miss Potts?”_

 

_“You might as well.”_

 

As the HUD fell away, so did any semblance of _place_ or _time._ It was all encompassing darkness, and in the distance, some hundred odd ships, leviathans, soldiers, together forming a massive armada. The missile drifted into a ship, the screen was filled with fire, then nothing.

 

“Loki could have wiped the floor with us.”

 

Fury nodded at the screen, critical. “Why didn’t he?”

 

\---

 

The key to Fury’s inquiry ended up exactly where he didn’t want it to. With Barton. He’d known the man long enough to recognize when Barton wasn’t ready to talk, and usually granted a period for decompression when Barton needed it. Barton didn’t usually need it, and Fury didn’t usually push, but he felt the subject merited discussion.

 

Hawkeye stood alone in the hall outside of the conference room. Inside, Thor and Loki were having a heated discussion, moderated by the ever-patient Bruce Banner. The archer leant casually against a wall. His arms were crossed, one foot propped up, trying to give the impression of being relaxed. His eyes told a different story. They watched the brothers’ interactions scrupulously, eyes slightly narrowed, jaw moving as he ground his teeth. Fury approached with caution, hands at his sides if Barton cared to look, expression neutral. Barton didn’t need to turn his head to detect Fury. He’d mapped the sounds of the man's footsteps, their distinct gait and landing. Hearing aids hid in plain sight, almost invisible unless you knew to look. Despite all the efforts that went into making them comfortable, they gave Barton a headache. The only times they’d make an appearance at SHIELD H.Q. was if Barton was feeling uneasy. On the spot. Under suspicion. Nick sidled up quietly, giving the archer a moment to settle in.

 

“May 4, 2012. The day Earth’s greatest heroes defended against an alien attack. That’s how the public will see it. But that’s not the whole story.”

 

Barton tipped his head back slightly. Inside, Thor wrapped a huge hand around his brother’s arm.

 

“Stark tell you?”

 

“He showed me. He didn’t have to show you. Who else knows?”

 

“Just us. Tony’s a generous guy. He’s not going to open his mouth.”

 

“And why is that?”

 

Clint finally looked at Fury, brows cast low over his eyes. “He can appreciate a show and Loki really put it on. Stark’s not about to blow his cover. If it became public knowledge that Loki deliberately tanked the invasion, the Chitauri would hear about it. And so would Thor. They don’t exactly have a… _normal relationship._ ”

 

 _That’s an understatement,_ Fury thought, watching their resident prisoner. Thor said something to his brother that elicited a scowl, but even still, Loki didn’t shy away from the near constant contact. Banner’s face showed some annoyance as he gestured to his tablet, Thor’s hand tightened again.

 

“He needed to get out of there… to go home. The sooner the better. I...” Barton rubbed his temple with terse fingers. Fury clapped him lightly on the shoulder.

 

“We’ll get you a prescription for children's tylenol.”

 

\---

 

The meeting reconvened around the newly propped up and taped together conference table. Pieces of cantaloupe and honeydew littered the floor. Fury’s swivel chair was off- The lumbar support was fucked and it leant back too far. He tried to ignore the grating squeak and resulting raised eyebrows in favour of the negotiations taking place.

 

“Just to be clear, there were _no other offers?”_ Banner asked, ever the mediator.

 

“I haven’t been around much lately-” Rogers cut in, “But I’m under the impression that committing genocide could make _anyone_ a less attractive spouse.”

 

“Have to disagree with you there.” Stark said. “Just look at him. The guy could be a supermodel.” Loki snorted and Thor leant back in unduly satisfaction.

 

“Agreed.” Romanov added.

 

“Should we do another vote? Who’d hit it? Purely physical, of course. Just me? No- Yes. Romanov. Barton. Banner, nice, good on you buddy. Didn’t think he’d be your type. Figured you go for more of a bad-boy-scientist-with-a-heart-of-gold thing.”

 

“He’s not.” Banner said with a sigh, ignoring the rest. “But I can appreciate what you’re saying.”

 

“You wanna weigh in Rooster Cogburn?”

 

“I do not.” Fury said without humour, narrowly holding back reprimand.

 

“No fun- Cap. Come on. Don’t tell me you wear those tights for nothing.”

 

Rogers wasn’t amused. He pressed his lips into a firm line and glared at Stark. The mechanic was unaffected.

 

“Obviously Thor wants to get it. Weird, by the way. Am I the only one?” Once again a series of hands rose. This time, Steve’s reluctantly joined them.

 

“To the contrary. Loki’s is the most sought after union in the nine realms, moreso now that he is tethered to two royal houses. It is my duty to secure Asgard’s treaty with the Jotnar, and-” Loki was preemptively rolling his eyes, Barton smiled behind the palm pressed lazily into his cheek, “I must protect my fair brother’s chastity from those who’d seek to corrupt him.”

 

The younger prince scoffed, eliciting an acrid side-eye from Thor. “I’m sure I’ll manage.”

 

Stark stroked his beard with one hand and then shot a finger gun at the pair. “Are the ballots closed? Over here. Yep. Tony Stark. King of Earth. I’m throwing down. One thousand goats. Or- Whatever. What do you people want?”

 

“More ice.” Barton suggested. Loki snickered. Thor scowled at the additional competition.

 

Romanov tapped the stylus end of her pen against the table top. “All jokes aside, what would you demand in return?” The question gave Stark pause.

 

“Hmm. Great question.” He said. He’d found another cup of coffee at some point. Fury didn’t even know where he was hiding it up until now, but he had half a mind to confiscate it. Rogers caught Fury’s line of sight. “-All the profits from the goats milk, and naming rights. I’m looking for a return on my investment.”

 

“Do you not demand spousal affections?” Thor blustered.

 

“He’s calling you a cuck, Stark.” Barton said.

 

“Again- Weird. But _yeah._ Definitely that. I’m gonna take your brother to pound town.”

 

Loki perked up. “Oh? And what should I wear?”

 

Rogers snuck a hand out and took Stark’s coffee. He slid it to Fury at the head of the table. The director threw it in the trash next to him with a nod of approval.

 

“Silk bathrobe, white sneakers.” Stark had turned his attention to Thor. “We’re up to three.”

 

“Actually-” Banner interjected, scrolling through his notes, “-discounting the ones Loki rejected outright, we’re up to eleven. That doesn’t count yours. I’m not putting it in. I’m sorry.”

 

“Fine. I’m not hurt. I’ll recover, on the rebound already.”

 

Rogers smiled a little bit at the rambling. Fury waved a rolling hand at Thor, hoping to get the negotiations over with and these people out of his conference room.

 

“There are six conditions to acquire this reduced sentence.” Thor said. At last his face settled into something serious and Loki took note. The young princes’ flirtation melted instantly into schooled boredom. Banner cut in with a look at Fury, “We’re just stuck on the last one. I think, uh-”

 

“What is it, Doctor?” Fury asked sarcastically, his relaxed posture producing a loud creak from the chair.

 

“Some counselling might help. On the issue of Loki’s natural appearance.” He offered first to Loki and then to the group.

 

“With all due appreciation, _Doctor Banner,”_ Loki supplied smoothly, “You are quite mistaken. I refuse all conditions.”

 

This was the wrong thing to say, and Fury’s fingers itched for his gun when Thor sat up straight in his chair, shoulders pulled back, and Barton’s fingers twitched, and Loki met his brother’s heated glare placidly.

 

“What happens now?” Roger’s ventured. Thor’s eyes remained scrupulously on Loki, the young prince turned to respond with a disinterested wave.

 

“I will be put to death.”

 

Barton cracked his neck, a Hmm emanating from behind a firmly shut mouth, and his fingers danced around above his lap, where a serrated tactical knife was hidden in a thigh holster.

 

“Do I not kneel at your alter?”

 

“I am not asking you to.”

 

“Then what do you want?” Thor seethed, leaning forward, Barton wrapped a hand around the arm of Loki’s chair, the unflappable prisoner not reacting to either.

 

“Agency. I wish to chose to die.”

 

There was a tense moment when Fury’s hand was placed over his gun and from the corner of his good eye he could see Roger’s reach for his shield, leant up against the sideboard behind him, but Stark and Romanov were unmoved, and Banner, for being a good tie breaker, had a sarcastic little lilt to his face that Fury wasn’t sure about, until he saw why.

 

Thor threw his hands up in the air and screwed up his face in a childish way, “Oh! I’m Loki!”

 

The younger prince immediately rolled his eyes and lolled his hand, and Barton sat back in satisfaction. “This is inconvenient. I guess I’ll just die.” Loki scoffed and kicked his brothers shin.

 

“Is that how you mourn? No wonder I didn’t get into Valhalla.”

 

“Oho-” Thor tried to pick up Loki’s foot and failed, “That’s not why you didn’t get into Valhalla-”

 

“You’re right-” His brother chided, batting his hands. “How could I get in with such an idiot-”

 

“I am the mighty Thor!”

 

“The mighty _snore.”_

 

Thor did something that might have looked better on Ryan Gosling or anyone on Queer Eye and Loki popped his feet into his lap in a self satisfied act of disobedience.

 

“I _suppose_ I could subsist. _But,”_ He was quick to remove his feet before Thor could grab him up, “I have conditions of my own.”

 

“The All-Father will not barter, Loki.”

 

“This condition is for you.”

 

“Go on then.”

 

“I will marry you-” He sniffed like the idea had a certain smell, “I want my coin back.” He said with a little wave. Thor didn’t immediately respond, he looked around the room from Fury’s one eye to Steve’s shield until it settled on Stark’s reactor, the blue light shining under his dress shirt.

 

“Then you will have it.”

 

\---

 

That night, the team assembled in the kitchen to eat spaghetti and meatballs, the likes of which Thor inhaled, and made merry over several rounds of beers and a shared lemon meringue pie, one of the things on the “Bucket List” they’d made for Thor that now sat on Tony’s fridge, next to a picture of a little green houseplant with a scribbled over schedule that made his heart ache when he looked at it. The panging heartbreak was mostly washed over by the happy noises of his new house-mates, laughing and cheering as they tossed food around and generally dirtied up Tony’s kitchen.

 

He’d been involved in a pithy argument with Clint over the merits of vodka sauce when an empty chair caught the corner of his eye. Tony glided through his comment, “You’re a slob, Barton,” without drawing attention to the empty chair or the bare plate in front of it, but after Natasha and Banner got into it, Tony slipped out, scotch in hand.

 

\---

 

Loki was on the patio in a grey recliner that just hid the top of his head from the view of the living room, but a glimpse of his hand on the armrest gave him away.

 

The sun was past setting, buttercream light just paling the base of the horizon, skyscrapers and streetlights bright against the dimming blue sky. The humm of the city flitted over with gull cries and car engines, and people mulled about in the city scape below. Tony wondered if the scenery was familiar to Loki, if Asgard was as alive at night as anywhere on Earth, and supposed it might be new to the prince, maybe that’s what drew him to the scenery late that evening. The sleeves of his black T-shirt fluttered in the cool breeze. His dark hair, pulled over one shoulder, contrasted his pale face in stark relief. The heavy bronze cuffs were still on his wrists, looking closer to a piece of deco jewellery than restraints. He didn’t turn around when Tony exited the new patio door, gaze fixated softly on the dazzling lights.

 

Tony drifted up to the chair, bending to one side to place a clear glass in the man’s hand, and bit the cork off the top of the liquor, amber liquid splashing into the glass. Green eyes finally turned up, a question in them, and Tony gestured with the bottle, cork in the corner of his mouth.

 

“1852, I think. It’s good stuff.”

 

He sat himself down on the other chair, his own glass in the making, and set the bottle on the floor.

 

“I thought we bought you a sweater.”

 

Loki shifted in his seat, eyes sliding to Tony’s before he took a mindful sip of his drink.

 

“I’m not cold.”

 

“Right. But twenty minutes from now you’re gonna expect me to give you my jacket. Well look, it’s not happening, pal.”

 

He was met with a little scoff, and when he turned to clink their glasses, was met with an entirely new sight. A rash of indigo spread over smooth skin, raised markings, jewel red eyes somehow vulnerable and sarcastic under a baleful stare, horns cropped unevenly close to the base.

 

“I can’t get cold.” The prince said, skin already resuming it’s fleshy tones.

 

“So that’s what this whole ‘appearance’ thing is about?”

 

“Aye. What of it?”

 

“Nothing!” Tony supplied with hands raised in surrender. “You look hot. Cold. You know what I mean.”

 

Loki smiled as he held out his glass, request for a more hanging between them.

 

“Not too strong for you?”

 

“No.”

 

Tony popped the cap off again and doled out another finger. The glass resumed it’s spot in Loki’s lap, his free hand cupping his chin.

 

“Was there something you wanted?”

 

“What, you don’t like company?” Tony didn’t need to be told twice, he downed his scotch, already on his feet to head back into the cozy livingroom, when a cool hand reached out to block his path.

 

“Stay.”

 

He happily plopped himself back on the chair, poured himself another drink, and settled in. “Speaking of company, congratulations on your engagement.” His dry tone carried out in the silence. “I gotta ask- The coin.”

 

“What.”

 

“Is it… Like, a weapon? I just need to check. You know. In case it is, and we get into another fight, I’d like to have some warning this time. Nobody really briefed me on the whole ‘aliens invading Earth’ possibility.”

 

Loki was silent for a few minutes, the sound of car horns below and the light gust of early summer wind mingled with the dulled noises of their companions inside. Tony thought he’d never get an answer and was resolving to drop it when Loki finally spoke.

 

“It belonged to a friend of mine. A man.”

 

Hearing Pepper’s tactful voice in the back of his head, Tony joshed. “A boyfriend?”

 

The idea somehow elicited a smile, and after a sip of scotch, Loki turned to look at him properly. His eyes were bright and face relaxed. “Of sorts. He gave it to me when he proposed. It was a memento. Just a silly joke.”

 

“What happened to him? Assuming you’re not still married or anything?”

 

“Thor found out. He told the All-Father of our intentions, the All-Father didn’t approve, and he was banished from our halls. I was imprisoned.”

 

“For what?”

 

“For nothing. To pass the time. A mere sixty years. Else I would have found my way back to him. Then I was released and I came back to Midgard to resume our lives together. But in that time he’d died. And things had changed… moved on without him. The currency wasn’t even the same. He was buried somewhere in an unmarked grave, no one had living memory of him. He died just as all humans do. Your lives are-” Green eyes focussed heavily on Tony, then on the Arc Reactor, “fleeting.”

 

Trying to resist the urge to zip up his hoodie, he ventured. “And the coin?”

 

“I threw it into a lake. Thor retrieved it after I left, and he’s had it ever since. He says he keeps it as penance.”

 

Tony sat back in his chair, mind tripping over all the little questions he wanted to ask, all the things he wanted to say to comfort his ward, a man not so far removed from trying to slaughter Tony and yet somehow seeming to need reassurance, and Tony suspected, never getting it. He searched for some comment that would put it all in perspective, and yet each thought paled in comparison to the heartbreak, to losing the love of your life, to missing the closure, to being betrayed by your family in such an intimate way, and to being forced to marry into them, and then the idea of Thor and Loki’s marriage wasn’t some kosher plan to keep the younger Prince out of a bad marriage, it just seemed like what is was, captivity. The idea made him stir crazy and tense _,_ but then Thor’s laugh would ring off in the kitchen, and Loki would smile a bit, and he was totally lost.


	8. The "Stupid Ass" Broken Crouch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The couch in Stark Tower gets broken. Clint suggests they get rid of it on Craigslist. "It'll be easy." He claimed, but he knew, deep down, it was going to be hard. That's just the way he liked to do things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to take a feels break this chapter and keep it light, so here's this.  
> Next chapter we get back to the feels, but not just feels, the first of many Stony feels. Sorry it's taken so long, it's a simmer, see. SSSSSSSS.
> 
> No Endgame chatter please, I'm too delicate.

May 8th, 2012 was a bright day in the state of New York. As he drove from rural roads that sloped over creek bridges into densely canopied woods, a pattern of straight paneled buildings gave indication of the first signs of civilisation, these falling away to highways with arid winds passing through sunroof and finally, the towering skyline of New York crested the distant horizon. Beach music played on the radio, the station low enough on the dial not to be interrupted by show hosts or advertisements or news, the happy droning of old fashioned music careened over the highway hum. When traffic stopped, one could hear the pinging and ringing of cell phones in neighbouring cars, residents overwrought by the heat wave forced to unroll their windows for a bit of cool respite, but his own cabin hosted no such alerts. In the distance, the rigid skyline of the city was the same as ever from a distance, and behind and beside him, his adult children joshed about the leftover jerky in the cooler, the little red and white container stuffed somewhere inside the cacophony of towels, lawn chairs, frisbees and fishing rods, the jumble of cards and tents and utensils. 

 

It was easy driving that day, and if the traffic leaving New York City was heavier than usual for a Tuesday morning, Gordo didn’t mind at all. 

 

\---

 

“Let me help!” She laughed, but her brothers nudged her away with cheeky elbows. Grinning, Silva squatted onto the stoop of the house, pregnant belly protruding from her blue T-shirt. Gordo snapped a picture with his film camera. 

 

\---

 

They had ham sandwiches for lunch, a last grab at some quality family time before heading separate ways, though they wouldn’t go far. “You got any new projects coming up, Dad?”

 

Gordo peered back over his shoulder into his barren living room, the coffee table and credenza covered with a dusty drop sheets. The new house was a bit bigger than he’d anticipated. He wiped mustard from the corner of a mauve lip with one short, wide thumb, and waved his hand in dismissal. 

 

“Now don’t go gettin’ worried about your old man. I got everything I need right here.” 

 

His kids shared a knowing smile and Sylva patted his hand in consolation. Stefan piped up. 

 

“You know we got this amazing thing now-”

 

“Don’t start.”

 

“It’s called the internet.”

 

“Yeah.” Jon added, and topped up his rootbeer with what was left in the glass bottle. “We could find you a couch.”

 

Gordo knew there was no fighting it, not when his kids set their mind to something. But he was a man of principal, and still up to the snuff of choosing his own furniture. “Nothin’ fancy.” He conceded.

 

\---

 

**Stupid ass broken couch.**

 

**PU @ Stark Tower. No autographs.**

 

“What, you want some fancy big shot's couch?” Was all Gordo said. “What for?”

 

“Dad.” They whined. And Sylva added “It’ll be good for the family” with a pat of her swollen belly. Gordo knew he was in for another road trip. 

 

\---

 

New York was a calamity as always. Gordo was never a huge fan of coming into the city proper, preferring to stay on the river or the beach or, if possible, upstate. People darted from storefront to storefront in Midtown trying to stay under shade, some devious obstructions causing traffic to run very slowly indeed. Cars were redirected from each passing alley, and Gordo spared a moment to wonder why the city had approved  _ so many  _ construction projects in a single week. Each corner they took showed yet another pothole, downed electrical line, streetlamp, sinkhole, stalled van and so on. Every now and again they’d come across an overturned car, and Gordo would think,  _ Great, New Yorkers.  _

 

\---

 

Stark Tower was a pretty tower. At least on the inside, though the outside wasn’t much to his liking. But the lobby was all right. It smelled good and Gordo liked that it didn’t have any glass in the windows. It felt very laid back. The concierge took their name and led them to the elevator in a scrambled, frantic sort of way. 

 

\---

 

_ “Welcome to Stark Tower.” _

 

“Well thanks!” Sylva directed at the ceiling. Where the voice was coming from, Gordo didn’t know. 

 

“How’d they get you in the ceiling? Small guy?”

 

_ “I am J.A.R.V.I.S.”  _ The voice replied.  _ “I am not a person, but a program.” _

 

Gordo wasn’t  _ big  _ on technology, and the idea of a discombobulated voice commanding the function of an elevator had never really occurred to him, but he supposed, if need be, the voice was pretty polite. 

 

“Pleased to meet you.” He offered. He didn’t know a whole lot about robots, not even owning a cell phone himself, but Gordo thought the voice sounded pretty friendly. 

 

_ “A pleasure, sir.” _

 

\---

 

Gordo didn’t know  _ what  _ he was expecting from Tony Stark’s penthouse, having no real standards to prepare him for the occasion, so he wasn’t bothered by the crater in the floor, the cracked windows, the pizza boxes stacked by the door, or the broken couch pushed towards the kitchen. It was collapsed in the middle. 

 

In fact, he didn’t know a lick about celebrities at all. He knew a good Captain America impersonator when he saw one -his father Antonne having been in the war himself- but was too out of his element to greet the red-headed bombshell seated on the kitchen island in a silk robe or the man climbing out of the air vent holding a bird, nor did he have the confidence to greet the bespectacled gentleman in the kitchen checking the waifish dark haired fellow for a concussion, although Gordo, going out on a limb, waved politely to the giant blonde man standing glibly by the broken couch, figuring him for an athlete of some type. No, Gordo didn’t have a great sense of celebrities, but he knew starpower when he saw it, and so he knew Tony Stark when they met.

 

The man was smaller than Gordo imagined, being only 5’10 himself, and so wasn’t expecting to be at eye level with this legendary person wearing the little black T-shirt. Gordo wasn’t expecting to see jeans on the man either, or a bandage over his eyebrow, though he supposed fighting for your country could occasionally result in a split eyebrow. He also wasn’t expecting the scrutinising warmth in the man’s eyes, but there it was, like beacons beckoning a stray ship into harbour.

 

“You’re here for the couch.” Said Stark, and Gordo took the man’s hand in a firm grip. Brown eyes seemed to linger on his seashell necklace and sweep over his sandaled feet, but Gordo didn’t fear for his silver toe rings or his khaki fishing hat or his dark red tan which often inspired comments from passers by. “And you have  _ no idea  _ who these people are?”

 

“Not much for TV.” He offered. Like many other things, Gordo didn’t know much about pop culture, and he wasn’t sure  _ why  _ that was important to pick up this particular furniture item from this particular group of people, but it had become a prerequisite partway through the process. “I’m a boat guy.” Gordo said. “Like fishing.”

 

“Great.” The genius said with a smile. He gestured at the couch and the giant standing on the other side of it, arms crossed. “We’re getting a new one in later today. A  _ sturdier one.”  _ He added plaintively to his big friend. The giant in question looked apologetic, a little nod came in response. “Six thousand emails, and you’re our lucky winner. Gotta say, Gord- Gordo, it’s a genuine pleasure to have you.”

 

“Well, I’m happy to take ‘er off your hands, and I can fixer, but to do that, I gotta know how ya brok’er.” 

 

“Wonderful!” The giant interrupted said with a smile at the same time Stark said “Super.” He strode forward and Gordo was pleased to receive a firm pat on the back, apparently amongst another man of the people. “A man of able talents. Let me tell you, Master of Gord’, for only honesty will commemorate this dainty lounge.” 

 

The word ‘dainty’ seemed to garner a raised brow from Tony Stark, but a look from his red-headed friend in the kitchen quelled a response.

 

“Well alrighty then.” Gordo nodded. 

 

The blonde continued. “It was late last night, I had been intending to have a midnight snack, you know, to calm the system-” he patted his toned stomach, “and I found that verily, my brother had eaten the last pudding cup, and was most unmoved by my soured mood, such that I was forced to throw him with the utmost vengeance-”

 

“Say no more.” Gordo said with a warm laugh. He clapped his new friend around the bicep in a friendly gesture. “Family, man, am I right?”

 

“Aye, I knew you to be a man of virtue at first sight.”

 

“And if I can say,” Gordo offered, gesturing expansively at the couch as if it offered some back up to his thoughts, “I’ve never had a brother, so I can’t say I’d throw one if I did. But I’ve got three kids and a grandson on the way. I’ve seen my fair share of busted sofas.” He winked and nudged the man with his elbow. 

 

“Haha!” The blonde laughed. Tony Stark rubbed his forehead.

 

In the kitchen, the dark haired man scowled.  “I didn’t see  _ your name  _ on it.” 

 

“I called  _ ‘dibs’ _ .” The blonde countered proudly, and with a beaming smile the might of a thousand suns, he gave Gordo a wink. 

 

The Captain America impersonator pinched his nose and the blonde giant gave a hearty laugh. The dark haired waif said nothing. The bird-man passed him a fork which he took with preoccupation.  

 

\---

 

Gordo fixed the couch with some well placed duct tape, wood shanks, drywall screws and a couple new peg feet from the local hardware store, available at only 8.99 a pair, the way Gordo liked. A fervent “Google” search of high end furniture catalogues by Sylva revealed the grey beauty to be worth around 16,000$ new, and while Gordo didn’t care much for money, he liked the couch, even more so when he tossed on his sun faded white and blue crochet blanket purchased from Goodwill for 3.99$. 

 

\---

 

On a subsequent trip that afternoon to the new sandwich place he liked on Bedford Ave, the one that replaced the drycleaners and had the name he could never read but was told it was something like Francisco’s or Frangelico’s or something, anyways- Gordo saw his new blonde friend on the TV, along with Tony Stark. They were standing in front of Stark Tower, a gigantic package between them. 

 

The banner on the news report read, “Avengers Seen Loading Giant New Home Wares” The word “Avengers” was foreign enough to entice him to listen after ordering. The report went like this: 

 

_ “The situation began when at 10am today, this Craigslist ad was posted by one of the so-called ‘Avengers’ advertising a free defunct couch. The ad quickly went viral as respondents posted their inquiries on Twitter and Instagram under the hashtag #AvengeTheCouch. Questions as to how the couch broke and whether it was related to the Attack on New York or if there are new tensions brewing inside Stark Tower are yet to be answered.” _

 

“Turkey on rye is ready!” A deli attendant called, and Gordo raised a finger to ask for a momentary delay. 

 

_ “The ad has since been taken down. Reporters on the ground watched as this man”  _ and here Gordo was surprised to see a decent photo of himself pop up on screen -he turned to give the deli attendant a thumbs up and point at himself-  _ “retrieved the item with three other people, assumed to be his children. Those who answered the ad reported being asked why they want the couch, where they live, what they do for work and whether they like the movie El Dorado. Since then, Shauna, a very large package has been dumped on the ground here in front of Stark Tower.” _

 

On the screen, Gordo watched Tony Stark frantically wave a very large wad of bills at the delivery men on the bed of the truck, the road closed off to accommodate the gigantic package. A police officer spoke a few words to Stark, who turned to the delivery man, who turned away and left without taking the money. 

 

_ “This is my girlfriend’s idea of a joke.”  _ Stark said to the camera at one point.  _ “I’m laughing hysterically.”  _ He deadpanned. Gordo left the TV for a moment to grab his turkey sandwich, large flat silver ringed fingers tearing away at the paper packaging. Where Tony Stark left Iron Man returned, armour all scuffed up like Gordo hadn’t seen before. He supposed, being a man of action, that Stark had probably been out fighting in the Middle East that weekend. The Captain America impersonator was on the ground too, he craned his neck to watch Iron Man fly up with the package, and if Gordo’s eyebrows didn’t raise at the title over the man on screen, “Steven G. Rogers - Captain America”, they certainly did when Gordo’s new giant blonde friend came to the other end of the parcel, swung a hammer, and flew. Gordo didn’t know much about flying, not liking planes himself, but he knew plenty about hammers, and didn’t think that’s how they worked.

 

The camera panned up to Iron Man, the couch, and the blonde, and after several minutes of unsuccessful attempts to haul it in through the patio or return to the ground, the couch dropped. It plummeted sixteen stories before landing on top of Steve Rogers, and Gordo thought he needed a double take when the man shouldered the weight of the thing, and he had to put his sandwich down at the same moment the man set down the couch on the hot pavement, to the cheers of spectators.

 

Stark hovered above, faceplate masking his expression, but the voice broadcasted through the suit was loud and clear.  _ “You look good on camera.”  _ And Steve Rogers, Captain America, or whoever he was, blushed, and Gordo supposed he didn’t know much about that either. 

 

\---

 

In the coming weeks, Gordo would play the radio constantly while repairing the brass hinges on his cupboards and restaining the doors. He liked the radio, usually opting for channels void of commercials, but he’d made an exception following The Attack. 

 

The news was devastating. Worse for having been away, difficult to catch up with the trauma of neighbours and friends, frightening for being so close to home, and he did reach out to scores of loved ones to see if they were okay, heart racing with each and every phone call until he ran out of people to dial and the fear started to slip away and the city started to rebuild. His children stopped by often with more news, details of the attack, news clips on the TV, and he ordered a number more sandwiches in the village just as an excuse to watch the news. It was incredible to see New York under attack by aliens. And what was more, New York, saved by a just a handful of extraordinary people, filmed by hundreds of bystanders on shaky cell-phones. At their forefront, New York’s own, a man Gordo himself had gotten a fine piece of furniture from, Tony Stark, defying everyone’s expectations to save the world.

 

\---

 

“Anthony?”

 

“I think so.” He said in a hushed tone, gently taking the little bundle in blue cloth when it was handed to him. 

 

In his arms a tiny baby just hours old, a wisp of black hair impossibly soft crowning his tiny pink head. The most beautiful child he’d ever seen, and Gordo knew with a strong mother and two fun uncles and a loving granddad, the kid might grow up to do something good, to be a compassionate person and a good role model. When Sylva gave him the chance to pick a middle name, there was just one that came to mind. 

.  

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to take a feels break this chapter and keep it light, so here's this.  
> Next chapter we get back to the feels, but not just feels, the first of many Stony feels. Sorry it's taken so long, it's a simmer, see. SSSSSSSS.
> 
> No Endgame chatter please, I'm too delicate.


	9. Phil Juniour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhodey gets to know Steve, Clint is Clint, and something needs to be done about Coulson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to see Endgame tonight. I don't know what it will do to me, but I won't spoil for all you people who haven't seen it yet, fear not. This is a sanctuary of no-spoilers.

“We’re not doing this.”

 

“We are doing this.”

 

“If we do this, will you let me go?”

 

“I’ll never hug you again, man.”

 

“...”

 

“...”

 

‘Let’s get it over with before anyone else gets up. I don’t want them to see.”

 

“You don’t want them to see you receive honest praise from your best friend?”

 

“God, no.”

 

“Alright. But no interruptions, this is serious.”

 

“Okay, dad.”

 

“Don’t start that with me, Tone. Listen up, cause if you listen, I’ve only got to say this once.”

 

Another sigh followed, Tony pinched the split bridge of his nose. “Fine.”

 

Rhodey gave his friend a moment to settle in before he grabbed Tony’s shoulders again. “Anthony Howard Stark, you are my hero.”

 

“...Was that it?”

 

“Yep, that’s it.” 

 

Tony’s expression twisted into a peeved grimace. “I thought there’d be more.”

 

“Do you want more?”

 

“No.” He sulked, Rhodey erupted in laughter. Slinging an arm around Tony he led them to the kitchen. 

 

“Here, I’ll keep going if you make me a coffee.”

 

\---

 

There was going to be a press conference that afternoon, giving Rhodey the excuse needed to visit New York despite his recent court-marshalling.

 

“You’re going to do security?” Barton asked over his cup of coffee. Rhodey had only met the man that morning, his bright pink  **TWINK** shirt warranted a double take. 

 

“I’ll be keeping an eye out.” Rhodey offered vaguely. Barton nodded and made his way to the patio.

 

“I like him.” Pepper commented over her glass of proseco.

 

“Girl-” Rhodey chided in a low tone, “You only like him for his  _ body.”  _

 

A condemning finger was interrupted when Tony sauntered up and popped Rhodey’s coffee into his hand. “I only like Barton for his body.” 

 

“What?” The archer was standing at attention just beyond the open landing pad door, “Excuse me?”

 

“I said I only like you for your body!” Tony yelled. 

 

“Thanks.” Barton waved and sat down in his patio chair. 

 

“He’s trying out new hearing aids.” Tony offered innocuously before ambling away. 

 

Rhodey and Pepper shared a look, plans for the conference forgotten on the coffee table.

 

\---

 

The addition of Natasha to the security team didn’t actually help matters.

 

“...stuck in DC for another two days, so Rhodey and I went for lunch instead, and  _ that’s _ when we saw this couch-” Pepper was saying, she laid a hand on the chenille fabric. Rhodey, caught up in the blueprints, could feel their eyes on him. 

 

“Oh yeah, yeah. It was nice. You know what else is nice? This door, for armed gunmen.” Natasha fixed him with a look. Rhodey made a hasty retreat for the kitchen.

 

\---

 

Tony was scrambling what could be pancakes in a huge non-stick pan. Rhodey eyed the mess dubiously. 

 

“Don’t look at me like that.” The mechanic clucked. His spatula was hoodwinked not a moment later by a tall blonde. 

 

“This counts as a utensil.” The man chided playfully. 

 

“You want pancakes or not?”

 

The blonde leant over the pan to take in the hot mess. “They look delicious.” He offered impishly, and Rhodey didn’t like the look in his eyes one bit, if for nothing else than who the man was. 

 

“I don’t remember meeting you.” 

 

“Right,” The man said, a little wrinkle sprouting between his brows and a strong hand shot out in offer, “I’m Steve.”

 

“Yeah-” He took the spatula from the man’s other hand, Tony’s eyes darting between the two of them and the stolen utensil, “I know. What I don’t understand is  _ why you’re here.”  _

 

“Whoa-” Rhodey gave Tony his spatula. He didn’t meet his friends eyes, staring instead at ‘Steve’ _ ,  _ standing in Tony’s kitchen like he owned the place. 

 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to impose?” His blue eyes darted to Tony.

 

“Rhodes, come on. It’s fine.”

 

“Is it?” Rhodey finally met Tony’s eyes. “Because the Tony I know would never let Captain America move into his damn house.” 

 

“What? This isn’t Captain America,” Tony puzzled, his jazz hands caused the spatula to release a bit of pancake into the air and land on the soldiers’ cheek, Tony’s brown eyes practically bore through his sharp jawline, “This is  _ Steve.  _ Look at him, Rhodes. He’s got nowhere to go. What was I supposed to do...”

 

“I have an apartment.” ‘Steve’ said innocuously, more concentrated on wiping the pancake batter off of his chin than on the proceedings, and Tony’s eyes watched his finger pop into his mouth to suck off the bit of batter. 

 

“He doesn’t, he’s a compulsive liar.” Tony deadpanned. 

 

“Listen,” Rhodey clapped a hand on Tony’s left shoulder to effectively shut ‘Steve’ out of the conversation, “I’ve known you almost my whole life, Tony. After everything Howard put you through, all that Captain America psychological warfare bullshit, I’m not sure this is a good idea. No offence to ‘Steve’.” 

 

“Funny, I don’t remember seeing you during the attack.” Tony remarked coldly. Rhodey could see him shutting off, the stiffness in his shoulders and jaw the first signs of an emotional lock out, so Rhodey did a quick reassessment. He grabbed the pan and passed it over to ‘Steve’ _.  _

 

“You mind tossing that?”

 

‘Steve’ did as he was asked and passed the now empty pan back to Rhodey who flipped it onto the element. Tony was still staring dead ahead, leant back against the towel bar of the stove, and ‘Steve’ was watching them critically. Rhodey bumped Tony’s shoulder, raising his chin a bit when the mechanic finally acknowledged him. 

 

“Hey, I’m sorry. You’re right, I should have been here. If it makes you feel better, this black eye is what I got for my efforts. It didn’t take long for the order to come through my branch after the portal opened, I tried to buy you some time. I’m sorry that it wasn’t enough.”

 

Tony’s eyes cast over Rhodey’s swollen eye and stitches on the bridge of his split nose, the likes of which matched Tony’s own. “The missile?”

 

“Yeah. Anything Iron Man related goes through me first.” Rhodey smiled, pouring more pancake batter into the pan. 

 

“You get sent to the gallows, Rhodes?” Tony joshed, eyes brightening once again. 

 

“Something like that.” He sighed. ‘Steve’ was still watching attentively. “How bout you, Six Million Dollar Man? Ever been court martialled?”

 

‘Steve’ brightened immediately. “Back in the day they called it ‘Getting Steve’d.’” 

 

Rhodey shook his head ruefully at the admission. The super soldier made for the fridge, and as Rhodey followed the movement, he caught sight of the green patch on the front.

 

“Where’s Phil?”

 

\---

 

It didn’t take long for Tony to obliterate the question from his consciousness, and soon Rhodey was able to proceed with his security detail. All the doors were manned, all the reporters searched, the building, though secure, was scoured for explosive devices before the conference started. Rhodey confiscated cell phones in between checking conference passes until each and every attendee was seated, then he returned to the Avengers lounging in the waiting room. 

 

“They’re an awkward looking bunch.” Rhodey said into the phone when he caught sight of them. 

 

_ “What are they wearing?”  _

 

“You’ll see on the news, Aunt Rose.” Rhodey prudently stated.

 

_ “I’m practically blind, James.”  _

 

Rhodey sighed dramatically into the speaker. “Kay well, picture this. Thor’s like, 6’4. He’s got his armour on. Yeah, the same. He’s lookin’ very… uh, formal. His hair is… long. Tony’s not in a suit. No. He’s wearing a hoodie.” 

 

Tony frowned from his arm chair. A makeup artist was dusting his forehead for grease. “Is that Rosy?”

 

“Yeah, it’s her. She says you gotta dress like you respect yourself.”

 

“Well that’s never happening.” Barton supplied from his opposing chair. 

 

_ “Is that Tony?” _

 

“Nah, that’s Hawkeye.”

 

_ “Who?”  _

 

“The bow and arrow guy.” Said bow and arrow guy flipped Rhodey the bird. “He’s  **very** poorly dressed, Aunt Rose. I don’t want to get into it. Oh, alright. He’s wearing a child size t-shirt and jeans. Yeah that’s it. I know, no respect for his elders. Nat’s looking fine as hell, like usual.” Natasha smirked over her magazine.

 

“Ask Rose how her date with Gerald went.” 

 

“Nat wants to know how your date with Gerald went? And no, I personally do not want to know.”

 

_ “I scored.”  _

 

“Oh, great. Thanks for telling me. She says she got laid.” He called to Natasha. “Yeah, she’s reading it. Bruce Banner is…” Rhodey eyed Bruce’s wrinkled purple shirt and plain dress pants, his mop of curls looking just as messy as they had when he first got up. “Doing okay for himself, all things considered.”

 

_ “Is he single?” _

 

“I’m am not going to ask him if he’s single.”

 

“I’m single.” The scientist furnished diplomatically. “But I’m not exactly boyfriend material.”

 

“You hear that? He said he’s not exactly boyfriend material!” He clamoured into the speaker. “You old pervert.” 

 

_ “Shush, or I’ll tell your mother what you called me.”  _ She chided.  _ “What about Steve Rogers? You know, I remember when you could buy a lunchbox with his face on it.” _

 

“Aunt Rose says hi.” Rhodey told ‘Steve’ who was sitting anxiously on the couch, knee bouncing up and down at a rapid pace. He smiled gratefully at the intrusion. “You probably know her from back in the day. She was still old back then too.” Rhodey continued. 

 

_ “How dare you.” _

 

“Okay Aunt Rose. I gotta go.”

 

_ “Say hello to Virginia for me, would you? I’m still waiting on my wedding invitation!” _

 

Rhodey hung up the phone. Tony dead eyed him immediately. “Did she ask where her wedding invitation is?”

 

“Like you gotta ask.”

 

\---

 

Shortly before they got started, Clint Barton took a picture of a hotdog lying on the floor outside the conference room. He decided to post it on Twitter. It really set the tone for the conference. 

 

**_@RealHawkeye_ ** _ 2:29pm _

_ Is this an bird? _

_ 201 Reblogs • 1,156 Likes • 49 Comments _

 

\---

 

“I think we’re getting off track.” The Captain said into his microphone. The comment effectively shut the door on the free-for-all argument about Cheeze-Whiz that had derailed the proceedings. Rhodey wouldn’t have thought ‘Steve’ was capable of being cold, but Captain America lived up to his reputation. The glare he gave Clint-Cheeze-Whiz-Is-Real-Cheese-Barton was withering. 

 

The man was able to effortlessly capture the attention of reporters, so quick to slide their camera lenses off of Clint and Natasha at one end of the table and onto him. His perfect posture, broad shoulders and intense eyes were able to do what his uniform usually took care of, somehow a reminder of old fashioned patriotism at once distinguishable and at odds with the odd pocket of superheroes lined up on either side of him. In the middle of the table, Tony slid a hand over his face to wipe away the days grease before lolling his head to the side to look at the Captain, a wry smile on his features. He plucked at his perfectly groomed moustache.

 

“This is great. Aren’t you glad we had a press conference?”

 

‘Steve’ started to say something, cut himself off, and tucked his hands under his armpits. 

 

“...It’s not  _ the worst  _ press event I’ve been to.”

 

“At least you don’t have to dance at this one.” Natasha commented.  

 

Barton leant forward in his chair to capture the redheads attention, receiving only a perfectly raised eyebrow in return that promised bodily harm if Clint didn’t keep his mouth shut. To his credit, Barton wasn’t as easily cowed by Natasha as anyone else, but he did back off. 

 

Tony smiled behind the hand on his cheek. “I would pay any amount of money to see that.” 

 

Thor slanted forward in his fold out chair to the soundtrack of a loud squeak. He’d been quiet up until now, this a part of their mandate going in. Tony and ‘Steve’ handle the questions, the rest of team takes what is redirected to them. Of course this plan imploded from the moment Barton tweeted that picture of the hotdog. He politely answered three questions about Loki’s sentencing, somehow sidestepping any mention of his arranged marriage. Now his interested look elicited a welcome wave from Tony. 

 

“Is it not unfortuitous-” He started with a low rumble, “That we have had such a grand victory and have yet to celebrate? In Asgard-” He said while sweeping his huge hands as if inviting the audience to correlate Asgard with Tremendous or Gigantic, “We hold extensive celebrations in the wake of vanquishing our enemies. We feast for days until the mead is deplete and our citizenry is too ill to continue.” 

 

“We kinda can’t do that until Loki is gone.” Bruce told him politely. “No offence to your brother.”

 

“A shame, Loki can be very lively company.” 

 

Bruce nodded emphatically and patted Thor on the back. “Don’t worry big guy. We can celebrate when you get back.”

 

“Yes. That.” Tony hissed after a second. “Also, bad news. Well, good news for me. Bad news for all of you. We’ve gotta wrap it up. Who’s our lucky last question? I need a show of hands- Hand, one hand. Yes, you in the blue jacket.”

 

“This question is for Mr. Barton-”

 

“And that’s our time.”

 

The reporter was undeterred. “...Mr. Barton, your fashion choices today have sparked discussion amongst our live viewers. Could you extrapolate on your choice to wear a ‘Twink’ shirt to this publicity event today?”

 

Amongst the ensuing hush were a series of titters. Clint looked scurrilously to Natasha who smirked behind a well timed sip of water. Tony flashed Rogers with a deeply affected grin, but the Captain was at a loss. Finally Barton grabbed his table mic, he spoke in dry tones. 

 

“...My handler was killed in the attack. I’m wearing this in honour of his memory.”

 

“Coulson would never have let you out here wearing that.” Natasha said with a smile. 

 

“That’s what I’m saying.”

 

“You’re an idiot.”

 

Steve was puzzling an idea together in his head, brows wrinkled together, he asked in a low murmur, “...Sorry, but, what is a twink? Is that something I should know?”

 

Tony erupted in laughter, overturned from his spot to brace himself on Barton’s shoulder. Natasha patted Steve’s arm in consolation. Bruce put his face in his hands. Thor bent over the table in front of Tony and Clint and told Steve in a not-quiet-whisper, “I know of this word, Captain. It is your Midgardian term for a small homosexual man.”

 

“Clint.” Steve strummed behind the table microphone, blush blossoming on his high cheekbones, he studiously placed his hands on the table, eyes laid intensely on Clint’s marbled expression. “I didn’t realize you’re interested in men. I should have guessed.”

 

And Tony gushed behind him “Oh my god, Rogers, stop.” But Barton beat him to the punch. 

 

“I’m not.” And he looked into the nearest camera, and Rhodey wanted to slap himself, and he heard Pepper mutter across the room, but all eyes were on Barton, “I’m as straight as an arrow.”

 

\---

 

Clint was banned from all future press conferences. They didn’t even make it to the elevator before Rogers was on him. “We need to get you a new handler.” 

 

“Are you volunteering?”

 

“No.” 

 

\---

 

Pepper would eventually have to meet Loki. She did, in fact, that afternoon around three.

 

“You must be Loki.” Pepper started diplomatically. The aforementioned prisoner pooled on the couch in a loose black T-shirt and sweatpants that were a bit too short, his skin looking very clear and smooth for a past of what Tony had described as ‘rough handling’. Loki primly placed his book on the arm of the couch -one of Natasha’s trashy saccharine romance novels Rhodey’s Aunt Rose frequently shipped to Stark Tower when she’d heard about the lone spy with no belongings of her own,  **_To Love a Conquistador_ ** , and stood to his full height. And  _ fuck _ , Rhodey thought,  _ tall genes must run in the family _ . Of course, he didn’t know how right he was.

 

“You must be Lady Potts.” Loki bent at the waist to kiss the back of Peppers hand with an indulgent smile. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I feared I would not have the opportunity given the circumstances. Your Stark speaks very highly of you. 

 

“Thank you. Speaking of Tony.” She forged on, “I understand the urge to throw him out the window, I fight it off a couple times a day myself. But I’d really appreciate it if you could resist the temptation.” 

 

“I will do my very best.” 

 

“Good. And another thing. You murdered my friend Phil Coulson.”

 

“Aye, I did. You have my sincerest apologies.”

 

“I appreciate that.” And unfazed by his poise or grace she forged on. “Plus, you’re going to do something for me.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“He is?”

 

“Stark Industries is working on a next generation coolant for some of Tony’s more… inventive motors. We’d like a sample of your blood.” And the stern way she said it left no doubt that Loki would be helping her, but it didn’t stop him from looking surprised. 

 

“I… Very well.”

 

\---

 

By mid afternoon most of the Avengers had disbanded, Pepper, Tony, Banner and Loki absconding to the lab. This left Rhodey standing aimlessly in the lobby when ‘Steve’ came around, looking almost as awkward as Rhodey himself. He’d adopted an olive pullover that did nothing for his complexion. Rhodey figured it was only a matter of time before Tony took him shopping. When the silence stretched on too long he said as much. 

 

“Tony’s not gonna to let you go on wearing that.”

 

“Oh.” ‘Steve’ said gravely. He pulled the hem of the sweater out to look at it. “I know. When he saw it he told me that I’m a ‘summer’. I didn’t know what he meant so I just agreed. Which is really just a band aid solution, I can see that now-” ‘Steve’ was rambling, the sound washed over him in droves of surrealist white noise tuned to the image of Captain freakin’ America self-consciously defending his sweater. “...And then Clint told me to  _ butter up _ ?”

 

“Right.” Rhodey nodded along vaguely. 

 

“I haven’t read that anywhere yet, is it a reference to something?”

 

“I wouldn’t worry about it.” Rhodey said offhand. Then when ‘Steve’ cleared his throat, Rhodey took pity on him. “What are you up to? Cause I got nothing going on.”

 

“I was going to go to the florist. We need to do something about Coulson.”

 

“What did you have in mind?”

 

“Upkeep.” ‘Steve’ told him decisively. “We don’t have a body to hold a funeral, but as I understand it Coulson had a plant. I thought we could bring it some company.”

 

“Let it run around with all the other plants?”

 

“Make some friends.” ‘Steve’ firmed his mouth in an approximation of seriousness, but the dimple in his cheek gave him away. “I didn’t know Coulson especially well. He told me he used to watch me sleep, I guess that was my first conversation with him.”

 

Rhodey chuckled at the imagery. “Yeah… He was a weird guy.” 

 

“He was, I liked him plenty. I’m under the impression he wouldn’t want the plant to be neglected.”

 

“He wouldn’t.” 

 

“And I don’t think he’d want Tony to feel guilty if it died. If we leave it down there it won’t last long in the heat.”

 

“So we should take care of it.” 

 

“Yeah.”

 

\---

 

So that’s how Rhodey found himself in a cab. They only got a couple feet outside before ‘Captain America’ was getting recognized and asked for autographs, and he was obviously miserable doing so. Rhodey hailed the first yellow top he saw and got them inside. Unfortunately the cab driver had also read up on his news.

 

“Ay!” The guy started shouting something indecipherable before Rhodey could make out his brown eyes in the rearview mirror. The placard on the dashboard said Ed Thornly, but if the slew of Hebrew was anything to go by, it probably wasn’t reliable. Finally, the guy addressed them directly. “You saved my friends life. Big time. Pulled a car right off him.”

 

‘Steve’ considered his big hands in his lap, probably thinking about his super strength or the torment of the battle. “Edward, right?” 

 

“Yeah!” The guy said. “He owns this cab! Broke his leg. I’ll tell him you remember. That’s great, man.”

 

\---

 

The florist did  _ not  _ recognize ‘Steve’, and for this Rhodey was grateful. The soldier walked from section to section picking out potting soil and decorative gravel and some beneficial neighbour plants and ceramic pots and a big stone for what they were calling “Phil Juniour.” Rhodey only found it a bit funny, being in mourning himself, but continually reminded himself that it was okay to smile about it, grief worked in funny ways. 

 

The way it worked on ‘Steve’ “Captain America” Rogers was to buy a crisp hundred dollars of plant related merchandise. 

 

“Tell Tony you got it for free.” Rhodey told him at the checkout. “Or else he’ll reimburse you. Heavily. Unless that’s what you’re into.”

 

“Thanks for the tip.”

 

\---

 

Rhodey took his companion out for lunch. 

 

“We got off on the wrong foot.” He said by way of explanation, a greasy bag of burgers and fries practically fit to burst between them. “Tony is important to me. But he’s also an adult, I got to trust that he can take care of himself… Believe me, he hasn’t always made it easy.”

 

Steve nodded pensively around a mouth full of hamburger. Mayonnaise and mustard bordered his lip like some kind of satirical all-american mustache. Rhodey gestured to it between sips of mint milkshake. The mustache disappeared with a swipe of single ply napkin, crumpled up and tossed into the bag with the first of many burger wrappers. 

 

Finally he responded, his own strawberry milkshake slanted forward in his hands so the condensation dripped between his feet. “I used to have a friend like you. He was always worrying about me. I guess I didn’t make it easy for him, either.” 

 

A shadow eclipsed the tone of the lunch like a tangible presence, an unspoken name hung on the end of a thought. Of course, Rhodey knew about Sergeant Barnes, anyone who knew the anything about Captain America was upbraided of his other half, bosom friends as far back as the mind can remember, and if the haunted expression was anything to go by, the death was still fresh for Steve Rogers. While the rest of the world had nearly seventy years to move on from WWII, Steve Rogers had had what? Under a year. Maybe less than that. 

 

Rhodey had more experience than he’d like dealing with other peoples PTSD, was better than most at detecting the little indications that someone wasn’t getting the help they needed, and he wondered if anyone was counselling Steve Rogers through his adjustment to modern day.

 

“When did you wake up?” 

 

“Six months ago, give or take.”

 

“You adjusting alright?”

 

Finally Steve laughed, the suffocating whisper of  _ Bucky  _ lifted from the conversation like a bed of fog blown out to sea, and Rhodey was glad to see the super soldier reach for another burger. 

 

“I wasn’t… If you can believe it, the attack was the closest I’ve felt to normal since waking up. I guess I kind of owe it to Loki.” And then he added, and Rhodey could have kicked himself for everything leading up to that moment if what the Captain were saying was true, “Tony helps. Being around him gives me something else to concentrate on. He’s not afraid to challenge me. I guess I was feelin’ sorry for myself or something, I needed a kick in the ass.” And if a real, honest to god curse word coming out of Steve’s mouth wasn’t enough to knock the Colonel’s socks right off, the sight of Captain-Potty-Mouth-America’s cell phone screen lighting up to display a scantily clad, tightly muscled brunette in US Marines dress pants just about did it. 

 

Steve’s face was priceless. 

 

\---

 

Twenty minutes later Rhodey was still laughing about it. Steve’s official line was that Clint hacked his phone. He made a passionate argument for not being able to use a phone nor understanding the settings menu. “I wouldn’t even know  _ how  _ to change a screen-saver.” He stated firmly. Rhodey popped onto his own phone and took no more than a minute to find Steve’s Instagram. 

 

“Time to come clean, Cap. Do the other Avengers know?” 

 

An embarrassed flush ripened over Steve’s cheeks and at the base of his neck. His ears went red hot, a vein in his neck announced his distress like a siren parting traffic. The Colonel belatedly realized that Steve Rogers, six months ago still a citizen of the 1940s and in love with a woman, might not be up to date with sexual politics, and might be feeling a bit lost in modern day New York. “It’s all good, man. I’m not telling anybody. That’s not my place.”

 

“Oh... Good.” 

 

They continued a gentle pace through the village until several minutes on, walking shoulder to shoulder, Steve stopped, angled himself to the side a bit so he wasn’t touching Rhodey and wasn’t looking him dead on and wasn’t breathing the same air but could still address the subject seriously, and frowned. 

 

“Clint  _ did  _ change my screensaver. I didn’t change it back.”

 

“Okay. That’s cool.” And several steps further on Rhodey felt dissatisfied with his statement and turned back to find a confused Steve Rogers still standing in place. “You know, lots of people these days are gay-”

 

“I’m not.”

 

“ _ Or  _ bi. I meant what I said. It’s cool, man. And you don’t have to come out to me, either.”

 

Rhodey supposed he was on the right track when Steve, upbeat persona ambling back into place, jogged up beside him. “Come out of where?” 

 

\---

 

Outside of becoming Steve Rogers’ personal sexual lexicon, Rhodey was having a pleasant day, and was almost sad to arrive back at Stark Tower that evening laden with bags full of plant related merchandise. They had a tacit agreement not to bring up the plant with Tony. 

 

The elevator came to a weightless stop on Coulson’s floor, the likes of which Rhodey had only visited on a handful of occasions when he and Coulson were staying in New York at the same time and Tony wasn’t around to entertain them. During those times, the flat had always seemed impersonal, almost but not quite unoccupied if but for the efforts of a pair of suits in the closet, a whole cupboard full of cereals and other long-lasting provisions, a collection of music-themed novelty mugs above the sink, one of which was cello-shaped and humorously large, and Coulson’s plant, which was surrounded with requisite pink watering can (Tony’s), a pair or extremely fine leaf trimming scissors (Coulson’s), a stack of dirty fingerprint laden schedules tucked gently under a maintenance guide (Pepper’s) and a placed inside a ceramic pot lined with three ducklings, orange legs making a jaunty march in blue galoshes, a series of colourful umbrellas in their waving feathered hands (Natasha’s). 

 

Caring for the plant had seemed all well and good in the idealistic mind of Steve Rogers, the Man with the Plan, but actually facing the empty living space was a different matter. Elevator doors slid noiselessly open to reveal the empty flat, the air hot and claustrophobic and for having been left only a few weeks at most, somehow dusty. Steve kept his eyes facing forward, shoulders squared, and when he turned to Rhodey, straight-angled face trained into a an expression of grim determination, he gestured at the flat with one bag-laden hand. 

 

“Here we go…” 

 

Steve took one long-legged stride into the place, followed by another. As if a seal was broken, Rhodey was able to take a deep breath, melancholy briefly lifted from his shoulders. The space was just like they last left it, all except for Phil Junior. The little plant was drooping in the heat, leaves tilted down in the sodden weight of the summer sun. 

 

“Hey Jarvis, can we get the AC back on in here?”

 

_ “Certainly. Would you like me to re-activate the temperature settings for this floor?” _

 

“Yeah…” 

 

Steve was already setting down his bags on the table, and one by one, out came the ceramic pots, the decorative head stone, the potting soil, the neighbour plants which had been so delicately placed in a low holder in a square bag, and Rhodey joined him at the table. 

 

They chatted while they worked, mostly discussing their military experience. Steve flipped little rectangular plastic pots upside down, fingers careful not to choke the tendrils of green, and gently shook the plants loose into his wide hands, then he’d place them into the waiting pocket Rhodey had formed in the potting soil in a new pot, carefully working the soil back around the base of the stem to keep it covered. Then the plants would join Phil Junior on the sill, one by one, until a small collection was started. Steve refilled the pink watering can, pouring out a healthy amount into each pot until he came to Phil Junior, and stopped. 

 

“What’s up?”

 

“Someone already watered him.”

 

\---

 

Tony was having a drink on the patio with Loki that night. “He does most nights.” Steve told Rhodey as they watched from the living room. “They talk a lot.”

 

“You know it’s funny. All these years, it’s been Tony and Pepper and I. He couldn’t make a friend to save his life. He was always suspicious of people, he was guarded. Then Natasha and Phil get in here, and Natasha was literally spying on him, man. And blam! Just like that. Best friends. So then it was me and Pepper and Natasha and Coulson, and still, Tony’s pissing people off left and right. Like, yeah, people like Iron Man, but people aren’t so forgiving of Tony Stark. Maybe more so now than before, but still. Then you guys enter the picture, and the guy just can’t  _ stop _ making friends.”

 

“Are you jealous?” Steve joked with a smirk bubbling under his straight nose.

 

“I mean… Maybe. I’ve never had to be jealous of anyone being friends with Tony before.”

 

“Just friends?” Steve Rogers, only hours ago coming clean about a dirty picture of a man on his phone, now waggled his eyebrows experimentally.

 

“Oh. My god. It’s all happening too fast. Please don’t involve me.”

 

Steve was pleased with his joke, but Rhodey didn’t know if there wasn’t a kernel of truth to it, when with just a moment passing, Steve’s blue eyes slid back onto Tony. 

 

\---

 

Late that evening, Tony handed him a beer. “Thank you.”

 

“For what?”

 

“You know what.” 

 

“That.” Rhodey breathed. “Didn’t think you’d been down there.”

 

“I…”

 

“Don’t want to talk about it?”

 

“No. Natasha and Clint are happy with it. So thanks for them too. I don’t think they’ll bring it up. They were both really close with… him”

 

“We’re calling the plant Phil Junior.” 

 

A devilish light came to Tony’s eyes, mouth pulled into a guilty smirk. “Really?” He took a languid sip of his drink, the silence mulling between them for a second before Tony’s head spun around. “Who’s we?”

 

“Steve.” Rhodey hissed into the neck of his bottle. “My new best friend.” 

 

And if the suspicious glint in Tony’s eyes were anything to go by, Rhodey was toeing an invisible line, the barrier between Tony naming his relationship with Steve Rogers and denying any involvement with him whatsoever. Of course, Tony still thought Steve was as straight as a ramrod up an American bald eagles patriotic ass, and Rhodey certainly wasn’t going to tell him otherwise, but that wasn’t going to stop him from having his fun, so instead of filling Tony in and breaking his promise to Steve, he just said:

 

“He’s got a great ass.” 

 

_ If looks could kill.  _


End file.
